


WIP Amnesty: Abandoned Fics

by cutloosemcgoose



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 10 Things I Hate About You AU, All of the chapters are endgame Dean/Cas in case the other ships are weirding you out, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Battlestar Galactica AU, F/M, Genderswap, Indiana Jones AU, Just the nature of AUs, M/M, Rule 63, Sweet Home Alabama AU, The Family Stone AU, When Harry Met Sally AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-23 20:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 68,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutloosemcgoose/pseuds/cutloosemcgoose
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin: a repository for all of my abandoned works in progress for Supernatural and Teen Wolf. After about six years, I got tired of looking at fifteen notebooks with all my stories and thought they deserved to see the light of day.Each chapter will include a summary, warnings, and relationships. At some point, I will go back and tag all applicable relationships for the story as a whole but, honestly, I don't even remember all of them right now.





	1. SPN: Indiana Jones AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [talking about Bobby]
> 
> Castiel: He said you were a bum.
> 
> Dean: Aw, he's being generous.
> 
> Castiel: The most gifted bum he ever trained. You know, he loved you like a son...took a hell of a lot for you to alienate him.
> 
> Dean: Not much...just you.

### Indiana Jones AU

Cas had been an awkward teenager—thin, with long and lanky limbs, and a shock of hair that always fell into his right eye. He’d also been brilliant, and shy, and totally unaware of the effect his looks had on people.

Dean had been twenty-two, already convinced of his own greatness, and with more notches on his belt that was smart or sanitary. It had taken just one look at Cas—his elegant hands gesturing as he explained the solstice customs of the ancient Mayans—for Dean to decide to add another. Seducing Cas had been easy—probably no one had ever called him sexy, or invited him out for long car rides that ended in the backseat. It had been a quick fling—three weeks before Dean went back to school—and he’d tossed off a casual “yeah, sure” when Cas had asked if they could keep in touch.

Dean hadn’t. Cas sent him a few letters, but after a few weeks of no replies, he seemed to give up. Dean didn’t think anything of it until Bobby had shown up on campus and decked Dean as soon as he opened the door.

Bobby might have been old, but he packed a hell of a punch and Dean almost went down. “The hell?” Dean yelled, cradling his jaw as Bobby stared him down, murderous. Dean threw his hands up to block his face as Bobby moved towards him again.

“You ever come near my son again, the whipping I’m gonna give you will make this look like a love tap,” Bobby warned.

“Jesus, Bobby,” Dean muttered. “Look, he asked—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll kill you,” Bobby said, sounding so calm that Dean really started to fear for his life. “And if you ever get the bright idea to come back to my house, you’re going to find the cops there, to arrest you for statutory.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “He told me he was seventeen!”

“He’s sixteen, you idiot!” Bobby yelled. “And even if he were seventeen, it’d still be illegal! I’m not kidding,” he said, finally stepping back. “I don’t want to see you again, Dean.”

He hadn’t. Dean had found a new advisor, transferred to different classes, and had to endure his dad’s disapproving glares when he explained why.

“You just lost out on the best professor in that whole department, Dean,” John said, the tone of his voice making something in Dean’s stomach clench. “All for some pretty face. If you aren’t going to take your education seriously—”

“I do,” Dean interjected quickly. “I mean, I am, Dad.”

John stared at him, considering. “You’re going to have work twice as hard before I know you’re ready to come into the field with me.”

“I will, sir,” Dean said. “I promise.”

He had wanted to be an archaeologist his whole life

...

“Cas, I need your help,” Dean said.

Cas laughed and it wasn’t a pretty sound. “My help? That’s rich, coming from you. The only thing I ever had to give you was an easy fuck.”

Dean winced. “That’s a little harsh—”

“As harsh as screwing a sixteen year-old and then pretending he’d never existed? I did learn from the best.”

“Okay, I’m not going to pretend that what I did wasn’t fucked up—”

“Glad you see you’re finally acknowledging it,” Cas muttered.

“—but can we put it aside for a minute? This is an emergency, it can’t wait.”

“Déjà vu all over again,” Cas snapped. “Isn’t that exactly what you said—”

“Yes, okay, I’m a dick and I treated you horribly, I’m sorry,” Dean snapped back. “I was an idiot, is that what you want to hear?”

“Keep going, you have a lot more apologizing to do before I’ll hear about whatever it is you need this time. Dean Winchester, always taking whatever he wants—”

“If I remember right, you seemed pretty eager to give it up!” Dean shouted, the only way to be heard over Castiel’s raised voice.

Cas flushed a dark red. “You son of a bitch.”

Dean sighed, holding up his hands, placating. “Look, I didn’t mean—”

“What’d you expect,” Cas said in a low voice, interrupting. “You were the first person to ever show me any attention. And you were…you, who wouldn’t have thrown themselves at someone like that.”

“I never meant to—”

“I was a child!” Cas shouted, turning on Dean with fury on his face. “It was wrong and you knew it.”

“Yeah, I did,” Dean admitted. “Even if you did lie about how old you were—”

Cas lowered his eyes guiltily at that.

“I knew it was a bad idea. I just didn’t care.”

Cas opened his mouth, probably to tear Dean a new one, but Dean cut him off before he could start.

“I don’t mean that I didn’t care about you. I knew it was a stupid move, but you were so—sexy.”

Cas laughed incredulously. 

...

“It’s my dad,” Dean explains. Cas’s face doesn’t change, but he also doesn’t take another swing, so Dean hurries on. “He was working a case and he just…disappeared.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched all three Indiana Jones movies approximately a thousand times during high school ("Three? Don't you mean—" I mean exactly what I said, there are three of them and they end with Indiana and his dad riding off into the sunset on horses) so it was just a matter of time before this happened.
> 
> My notes for this (helpfully written on the back of a grad school handout) just say:
> 
> "John Winchester, world-renowned archaeologist, disappears while hunting for _____ (treasure? YED? The mystery that killed Mary?). His son, Dean, a well-respected archaeologist in his own right, sets out to find him, enlisting the help of his brother, Sam, a famous Egyptologist living in Cairo; and an old flame, Castiel, whom Dean loved and lost years ago (Cas—owns a bar in Nepal? Son of Bobby Singer, a former professor of Dean’s and an old friend of John’s). Dean needs something from Cas/Bobby—but Bobby’s missing, too, and Cas isn’t exactly eager to help the guy who broke his heart when he was a kid."
> 
> I didn't make an outline, but I assume Dean would have convinced Castiel to help him, and then they would have found Sam, picked up the trail of John and Bobby, and at some point, rekindled their romance, all in order to save the day. Also, I guess the demons are Nazis.
> 
> Relationship(s): past Castiel/Dean Winchester
> 
> Warnings: Reference to an underage relationship (Castiel was 16, Dean was 22). Please let me know if you would like more specific warnings.


	2. SPN: When Harry Met Sally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time they met, they hated each other. The second time, Dean didn't even remember Castiel. The third time, they became friends. They were friends for a long time, and then they weren't. And then they fell in love.

### When Harry Met Sally AU

#### I. Didn’t Like/Hated Each Other

_“Why don’t you tell me the story of your life?”_

_“You realize of course that we can never be friends.”_

Dean Winchester didn't make a habit of doing favors for other people, unless he thought the payback would be really good. In the case of Anna Milton, the chances of that were slim. It was officially their last night on campus; in the morning, Dean was heading to New York and Anna was on her way to California. One night of great sex was not the equivalent of spending thirteen hours in a car with a virtual stranger.

But Anna had a lot of frequent flier miles in Dean's bed, so when she asked him if he would drive her cousin to New York ("His lease doesn't start until Monday, but he can't stay on campus and I'm leaving tomorrow; can you do me this one favor?"), he'd reluctantly said yes. The speakers in the Impala were top-of-the-line, so if worse came to worse, Dean was prepared to just drown the guy out for half a day and save himself the headache.

Anna hadn't really told him much about her cousin, so Dean let his imagination run wild as he waited outside Blackstone for the guy to show up.

...

A flash of red caught Dean’s eyes. Turning, he saw Anna, book bag pulled over one shoulder, dragging her cousin (at least, Dean hoped it was her cousin) down the street. The poor guy looked like he could barely keep up with Anna, thanks to the two suitcases he was lugging behind him. Dean tried not to sigh; his car really wasn’t built to carry the contents of two people’s entire lives and, if anything happened to her suspension, he and Anna were going to have words, opposite coasts of America or not.

“Hi, Dean,” Anna said, just short of breathless as she skidded to a stop beside him. “This is my cousin, Castiel. Castiel, Dean.”

Castiel straightened, looking much more put-together than Dean would have expected from the sprint. “Hello,” he said, holding out a hand, which Dean shook. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Sorry we’re late,” Anna apologized, yanking one of the suitcases from Castiel’s hand and starting to load the trunk. “I overslept and then Cas took forever with his goodbyes—”

“It’s my fault,” Castiel interrupted. “Are we very behind schedule?”

Dean couldn’t help but smile a little at their synchronized routine. It reminded him of Sam. “Nah, we’ll make up for it on the highway. Got everything?”

Castiel nodded, even as Anna pulled him into a tight hug. “Call me when you get there, okay? Or before, if you have any problems.”

“I will,” Castiel said, as Dean looked at the fascinating foliage in front of Blackstone and tried not to stare at their cousinly bonding moment. “Take care of yourself, Anna.”

Dean was interrupted from his captivating observations of all the plant life on the UChicago campus when Anna moved to the driver’s side and kissed his cheek. “Thanks again, I owe you one.”

“Think you more than paid me back yesterday,” he teased, winking at Anna, who rolled her eyes and punched his arm.

“Don’t crash, you have my baby cousin’s life in your hands.” She stepped back to the curb and watched Dean slowly pull away, waving once the Impala picked up speed. Castiel waved back, just once, before they made a left and Anna fell out of view.

Calling the car ride excruciating was probably being generous. Dean hadn’t expected Castiel to become his best friend before they crossed state lines but, if asked, he would have assumed that anyone who had just finished four years of higher education could handle a little small talk.

So far, aside from a polite “Thank you for the ride” and an offer to pay for half the gas, all Dean had gotten from Castiel were three “yeses” and a “no” in response to his questions.

They’d been driving for an hour.

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing at Castiel when he thought the other guy wasn’t looking. Dean was right; Castiel was staring out the passenger window like he’d never been in a moving vehicle before.

 _was your cousin raised by a cult?_ he texted Anna, shrugging off a nagging voice (which sounded like his mom, or Sam) that scolded him for texting while driving. Whatever, there was hardly anyone on I-90 at this hour.

 _no, why?_ she replied.

 _i feel like i’m sitting next to a pod person,_ he typed out laboriously before snapping his phone shut. At the noise, Castiel startled, then blushed at Dean’s raised eyebrows.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought,” he offered. “I forgot where I was for a moment.”

“It’s cool.” Dean cleared his throat, searching for some conversation starter that could keep them talking for more than a few minutes and Dean from driving off the nearest bridge. “So you have a job in New York?”

Castiel nodded. “Paid internship, actually, but if it goes well, hopefully they’ll offer me a job there. I want to be a journalist,” he explained.

“That’s pretty cool,” Dean said. “You want to save the world, too, huh?”

Castiel smiled. “I see you’ve spoken to Anna about her plans.”

“She mentioned them a few times,” Dean replied, choosing not to add that it had been in between about five rounds of very good, very athletic sex. He didn’t want to mentally scar someone he had to spend twelve more hours with.

“What about you, are you going to school in New York or working somewhere?”

Dean shrugged, one eye on the road and the other on Castiel, who had finally started looking personally invested in their conversation. “I don’t know yet, I’m just going to wing it once I get there.”

“So you don’t have a plan? At all?” Castiel asked. Dean thought that he sounded mildly horrified.

“Not really, no. I mean, I have some friends there. It can’t be that hard to find a job and a place to live.”

“You’re driving eight hundred miles to a city you’ve never been to before and you didn’t even find a place to live before you left?” Now Castiel definitely sounded horrified, not to mention judgmental.

“People do it all the time,” Dean said, annoyed. “Not everybody needs have the next ten years of their life perfectly planned out, you know. Some people like to live a little.”

“There’s a difference between ‘living a little’ and ‘running around like a chicken with its head cut off,’ wouldn’t you say?” Castiel retorted. “What if you can’t find a job? You know that student loan repayment kicks in six months after graduation, right?”

“Jeez, what are you, my mother? I might not have been a journalism major—”

“English Language and Literature, not journalism—”

“—but I’m not an idiot and I don’t need a lecture on how to run my life.”

Castiel stared at him. Dean stared back, refusing to break eye contact, even though he could feel his car drifting towards the shoulder and he really didn’t want to crash and die three days after graduation.

Castiel broke first, turning back towards the window with a shrug. “I didn’t mean to berate you. I just think your plan—I’m sorry, your lack of a plan—is risky.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I came off as rude.”

Dean took a breath, too, feeling the tension in car drop a little. “It’s cool. I mean, I know it’s crazy. You’re not the first person to tell me that. But it’s what I’m gonna do.”

There was a minute of silence before Castiel spoke up. “You didn’t even—I don’t know, look at the classifieds before we left?”

“Don’t start.”

Castiel held up his hands, conciliatory. “Alright, alright.”

There was a blessed five minutes of silence (and since when did Dean want quiet, hadn’t he been mentally pleading for some kind of distraction before this whole conversation happened?) before Dean couldn’t take it anymore.

“So you got held up saying goodbyes, huh?” Castiel blushed a little, which Dean hadn’t been expecting. “Someone special? Girlfriend, study partner?”

Castiel frowned. “Why would a study partner be special?”

“Not a study partner, a _study partner_ ,” Dean amended, trying to convey the emphasis with just his eyebrows. Judging by Castiel’s expression, it didn’t seem to be working. “Fuck buddy, man, how have you never heard that euphemism?”

Now Castiel did blush, hard enough that the flush went all the way down his neck and disappeared under his collar. “Aha,” Dean said, satisfied with his sleuthing. “What’s her name?”

Castiel turned and looked out the window, trying to ignore Dean, which might have worked, if they hadn’t been in a confined space that measured five feet across and if Dean hadn’t spent eighteen years' worth of road trips prying information out of Sammy that he didn’t want to give up.

“If you don’t give me a name, I’m going to have to start guessing and, trust me, I know a lot of names,” Dean said. When Castiel didn’t respond, he just grinned. Hard to get. That he could do.

“Or I could just start telling you all about my study partners. Fuck buddies,” he clarified, playing a hunch that it was his choice of words that had flustered Castiel the first time around. “I don’t really do girlfriends—not a fan of the whole “holding hands and pretending to care about the stuff you care about” thing—”

“His name is Rafe,” Castiel interrupted. “And we were not ‘fuck buddies,’ as you so charmingly put it, we were dating.”

...

According to my outline:

#### I. Didn’t Like/Hated Each Other

  1. Dean and Cas go to the same college. Anna, who is Cas' cousin, asks Dean to drive Cas to his internship in New York (Cas is a journalist? Dean is a ?). 
    1. Dean and Cas don't get along: Dean is a super laid-back ladies man without a plan, Cas has the rest of his life planned out.
    2. Cas is bisexual and tries to convince Dean that it's the most natural state of being; Dean doesn't even believe that bisexual men (or women) exist.



#### II. Didn't Remember Each Other

  1. Four years later: Sam has just moved to New York to go to NYU Law; Dean is going through a rough patch with Lisa (how did they get together?); and Cas is dating Raphael/Balthazar. 
    1. Dean runs into Cas at an NYU welcome party; surprise, Anna goes there too! Awkward hilarity ensues between Dean, Cas, Sam, and Anna, as Dean doesn't remember Anna at all and just vaguely remembers Cas.
    2. Finally, Dean is like, let's get a cup of coffee and talk about our lives (to Cas).



#### III. Became Friends

  1. Dean and Cas run into each other at the Bean and gradually become friends (my second outline says, "because Dean has kind of a shitty life in New York"). 
    1. Cas is a reported for the Times, Dean is ?
    2. Now Cas is going through a rough patch with R/B; Dean just had a fling with a guy but thinks it was just sex, which is why it failed.
    3. Dean and Cas get really close to each other



#### IV. Were Friends for a Long Time and Then They Weren't

  1. The Hook-Up: Cas is dumped by R/B and is devastated; he and Dean have sex after a night of drinking to "cheer Cas up," which fails miserably. 
    1. The next day, Dean blames the sex on the drinking, still claims not to be bisexual, and basically breaks Castiel's heart.
    2. Friendship=over.



#### V. And Then They Fell in Love

  1. Fixing Things: Dean and Cas are both miserable now, seven years down the line and each living without his best friend. 
    1. Everyone tries to pitch in to fix things, but it doesn't work until a) Dean sees Cas out with his ex (returning stuff, but Dean doesn't know that); and b) Dean pulls his head out of his own ass and realizes that he loves Cas.
    2. Cas is winning a prestigious reporter award and Deans shows up to beg his forgiveness, embarrassing the hell out of both of them, but it works
    3. HAPPY ENDINGS OR GTFO.



I also have a bunch of random notes that say things like, "NYC places to include: Washington Square Park; Studio Square/Copper Door [where the hell is Copper Door?]; Central Park; the Met; Yankees game," and a detailed table of other relationships (Anna is Cas' cousin; Rachel, Gabriel, and Jo are his friends; Raphael or Balthazar is his ex. Sam is Dean's brother; Victor, Cassie, and Pamela are his friends; Lisa and Nick (siren!Nick, not Lucifer!Nick) are his exes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for Dean Cas Big Bang (DCBB) 2012. 
> 
> According to Tumblr, I only started writing this after that time Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles reenacted [the diner scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrJOIIOrEog) at JIBCON, BUT I have to add that I've been obsessed with When Harry Met Sally for years, ever since the incomparable helenish pitched a Stargate Atlantis version by doing something like this:
> 
> Castiel: I've been doing a lot of thinking. And the thing is, I love you.  
> Dean: What?  
> Castiel: I love you.  
> Dean: How do you expect me to respond to this?  
> Castiel: How about, you love me too?  
> Dean: How about, I'm leaving.
> 
> Anyway, the point is that I hardcore love When Harry Met Sally, as evidenced by the fact that I still watch it and cry every New Year's Eve.
> 
> Relationship(s): Castiel/Dean Winchester, past Anna Milton/Dean Winchester, references to Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden, Dean Winchester/Nick Munroe, Castiel/Raphael, and Castiel/Balthazar. 
> 
> Warnings: Reference to problematic/questionable views on sexuality, specifically bisexuality, and reference to characters engaging in sexuality activity after drinking (both characters consent to the sexual activity, but one uses his drinking as a justification the following day).


	3. SPN: Seven times Dean and Castiel fell in love (and one time it stuck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following an epigraph about many worlds/multi-verse theory, the story begins. It’s about seven times that Dean and Castiel fell in love, in seven different places. Each version of Dean and Cas is different, although still recognizable. Each version ends unhappily/in heartbreak, until we get to the last: the only universe/story where the two end up together.
> 
> Originally, basically just an excuse for me to write seven different AUs because I couldn't come up with an original storyline to save my life.

### SPN: Seven times Dean and Castiel fell in love (and one time it stuck)

**OPENING EPIGRAPH POSSIBILITIES:**

_Many-worlds implies that all possible alternative histories and futures are real, each representing an actual "world" (or "universe")._

_In lay terms, there is a very large—perhaps infinite—number of universes, and everything that could possibly have happened in our past, but did not, has occurred in the past of some other universe or universes._

_I leave to the various futures (not to all) my garden of forking paths._

_Your ancestor did not believe in a uniform, absolute time. He believed in an infinite series of times, in a growing, dizzying net of divergent, convergent and parallel times. This network of times which approached one another, forked, broke off, or were unaware of one another for centuries, embraces all possibilities of time._

**SEVEN TIMES (NOT NECESSARILY IN THIS ORDER)(obviously this ended up being more than seven):**

  1. Cas is Frankenstein; Dean is his monster/creation Cas is a scientist, experimenting to try and find the secret to life/existence/the explanation of how human life began in this universe. He inadvertently creates a “monster” in Dean, although Dean isn’t monstrous at all. Because of a series of unfortunate events, Cas is forced to destroy Dean, because the implications of his research are just too groundbreaking to exist in the world. This one is slightly humorous. Dean is an irreverent creation who’s constantly challenging Cas, sticking his nose in his maker’s experiments, just generally being a nuisance.
  2. Cas and Dean in high school Heathers AU, where Cas wants to join the “Angels,” the popular group at school (Michael, Uriel, Gabriel?). Dean is the rebel loner who comes in, shakes everything up, and makes Cas see how overrated being popular is. Ends with Cas killing Dean, whose plan was to blow up school.
  3. Cas and Dean as women
  4. Superheroes Dean is a superhero, a la Tony Stark, and Cas is his dedicated personal assistant/CEO of his company and the only person he can depend on to keep him in line. Ends with them breaking up because it’s impossible to date a superhero without serious repercussions and Cas is far too sensible for that. Also, it’s breaking his heart to always know that Dean is in danger and off risking his life while he can’t do anything to help him.
  5. Dean is the angel, Cas is the human Castiel is the righteous man, retrieved from Hell by the angel, Dean (Why was Cas in Hell? What did he do to end up there?). Dean and Sam help Cas and Gabriel save seals, although Zachariah and the other archangels are dicking everyone over in this one, too. Dean is destroyed by Raphael in a parallel of “Lucifer Rising,” while Sam and Gabriel try to stop Cas from killing Lillith. Probably ends on a cliff-hanger, same as the real 4X22.
  6. Cas has always been a demon Rewrite of season four, where the angels pull Dean from Hell, but Cas (a demon) gets to him first. Convincing Dean to “save” the seals, Cas actually makes him break them. Along the way, they start to fall in love, which is really inconvenient to everyone involved. Ends at 4X22/5X01. Cas is destroyed by the “bad” angels when he rebels and tells Dean the truth, and Dean and Sam race to St. Mary’s with the “good” angels (read: Anna) to stop Lillith.
  7. Post-World War 2 Noir AU (“Everybody Comes to Rick’s”) Dean is a private eye, whose brother, Sam, died while Dean was fighting overseas in WWII. Dean comes home and tries to drink himself to death after losing Sam, but gets embroiled in a mystery when a dark-haired man in a trench coat tells him that Sam is alive. Possibly ends with Castiel actually being a figment of his imagination/a symptom of shell-shock/part of a psychotic break because he can’t deal with losing Sam. And the whole thing is a wild-goose chase and Sam really is dead.
  8. Rehab Last minute addition. Cas is a drug addict (a la “The End”) and Dean is an alcoholic (a la canon) or possibly a sex addict. They meet in rehab, hook up, get out, and continue their self-destructive ways, etc ad infinitum. I don’t know how this one ends up yet, but it’s not happily. Does one overdose, do they just break up because it’s inevitable?
  9. Dean is a baseball player
  10. Original Universe The story ends in the universe presented in canon, where Castiel is an angel who pulls Dean out of Hell and then they have all sorts of adventures and so forth. This section basically describes seasons four and five as a love story, six and seven as a growing apart and inevitable breakup, and then has them getting together at the end of season seven (will probably be written last to avoid Jossing by the actual show). It ends happily ever after because fuck you, that’s why. Sorry, that was rude. It ends happily ever after because I am a tinhat and refuse to live otherwise.



The only ones I actually wrote sections of are the post-WWII noir au and the "Cas was always a demon" AU so, enjoy.

**"EVERYBODY COMES TO RICK'S" EXCERPT:**

Dean lost his brother, but he won the war. It's funny, in a sick way, but Dean's not laughing.

He is drinking. That's his primary occupation, now: drinking. Along with fucking, and not giving a damn.

...

Dean lifts up his glass and silently toasts: to Sam. Every drink now is for Sam. A slug of whiskey, a belt of vodka, the cheap wine every bar's got by the barrel. Sam was never much of a drinker—he always said it turned too many good men to devils—but Sam's not here to yell at him anymore. If Dean was a religious man—if he went in on all that ridiculous church nonsense—he'd bet that Sam's frowning down at him from Heaven now. If he believed that Sam was somewhere better, now.

...

Dean should be celebrating. Everyone around him is. The war's over. It's been over for two months, but people still can't believe their good fortune. Still can't believe the world didn't go up in a ball of flames, Hitler matching across the whole face of the earth. Hell, Dean can't believe it, wouldn't believe it if he hadn't seen them laying down arms with his own eyes.

Around him, people are drinking, laughing, carousing. Reminding themselves that they're still alive.

Sam's not.

Been two months and it still doesn't make sense to Dean, his whole world turned around in the blink of an eye, a spray of gunfire. Dean's alive and Sam's dead. Dean lost his brother and he won the war. It's funny, but Dean's not laughing. Dean is drinking, because he's got nothing left.

"Come on," Sam would say, if he was here. "Dean, we did it! We stopped Hitler, we saved the world!" He'd clap Dean on the back, break into that smile of his. Sam was handsome as hell. Sam wouldn't even care that he died, not if it meant something good coming after. "That's war," he would say, with that earnest voice. "If my death made a difference—if it saved someone else, if it moved the peace talks along, it was worth it."

But Sam's not in Heaven. He's six feet under and right next to Dean. He's still behind enemy lines, but he never leaves Dean alone. Dean's not complaining. Beats drinking alone. That's his job now, drinking, fucking, and not giving a damn about anything.

The department offered an early retirement when he came home. A real hero's welcome. Dean's not a hero. Sam was the goddamned hero and what did it get him? Stuck behind enemy lines for the rest of all time. He's got an empty coffin here in Lawrence, to go with the empty desk.

Ruby sneaks up on him when he's trying to convince Ellen to just give him another bottle. "Winchester. It's nice to see you're still here."

**CAS HAS ALWAYS BEEN A DEMON SUMMARY:**

\- Total season four rewrite where Cas is actually a demon

\- The angels pull Dean out of hell, but Cas gets to him first and takes credit for it (did Cas see/know him downstairs?)

\- He angel-proofs Dean (sigils, Enochian marks) so that the angels can’t find him and he starts making Dean break seals under the guise of “saving” them (does something happen to get Bobby, who would know better, out of the way?)

\- The “good” angels are desperate to find/stop Dean (think: Anna’s garrison? Re-angelfies without the boys’ help?), but the “bad” ones know the end game, so they don’t actually care/interfere

\- Along the way, Dean and Cas start to have feelings for each other, which is just super inconvenient to everyone involved

\- Sam is concerned by just how dependent Dean is becoming on Cas, but Dean doesn’t listen (“No, I’m not”; “Who cares, he’s an angel anyway” etc.), which parallels Sam and Ruby in the real season four

\- So, because Cas knows the end game and that Lucifer—wearing Sam—is going to kill Michael—wearing Dean—(or so the demons all believe) he starts to become really conflicted, which parallels Cas’ process in real season four

\- Story ends at the end of season four, with Cas defying orders—and his own existence, in a way—to reveal the plan to Dean and Sam and send them to St. Mary’s, while angels and demons alike descend on Cas to try and stop/destroy him

\- Sam and Dean—together—stop Lillith (how? Exorcism? Locking her up in some kind of prison—maybe Cas also tips off the good angels (i.e., Anna, in a parallel of the scene where Cas asks her for help in the real season four); it has to be some form of angelic intervention to completely derail Lucifer’s plan)

\- After that, angels and demon descend on Sam and Dean and company (Zachariah tosses in a comment about how he ripped Cas apart), but when it’s coming down to fisticuffs, none of the angels can lay a hand on the Winchesters, they’re protected by God’s mark

\- End potential apocalypse, yay!

\- What happens to Cas? Sam and Dean assume he’s dead (“Good riddance,” Dean says), but in a deus ex machina that surprises no one, God brings him back. And not as a demon, or even a fallen angel, but as a regular guy that Dean runs into one day, because I am a sucker like that and people deserve happily ever afters

**And here are a bunch of quotes that I think are related to this story, even though I can’t explain exactly how:**

_“Love begins to be a demon the moment he begins to be a god.”_ –C.S.Lewis 

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

_“And do you dream?” said the demon; “do you think that I was then dead to agony and remorse?”_

_“My heart was fashioned to be susceptible of love and sympathy; and, when wrenched by misery to vice and hatred, it did not endure the violence of the change, without torture such as you cannot imagine.”_

_“But I was the slave, not the master, of an impulse, which I detested, yet could not disobey…I had cast off all feeling, subdued all anguish, to riot in the excess of my despair.”_

_“When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil.”_

_“For while I destroyed his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires. They were forever ardent and craving.”_

**CAS HAS ALWAYS BEEN A DEMON EXCERPT:**

Dean Winchester is saved.

So proclaim the heavenly choirs, so loudly and with such fervent joy that miles (which are seconds which are eons which are dimensions) away, a perfectly (extra) ordinary girl can hear each and every word with clarity.

Interesting choice of words, though. Not “we saved Dean Winchester,” or, “We have raised Dean Winchester from perdition.” No, the angels sing a different tune, this one in the passive voice—Dean Winchester is saved.

The question is, saved by whom?

...

The first thing Dean feels (or experiences or understands—although he doesn’t understand, does he, not until much later) is fear.

Fear is the dark that’s all around him, even when he blinks crusty eyes open, like he’s been blinded. It’s heat and the taste of the recycled air that’s surrounding him, mapping his limits, halting his escape. Fear is not knowing where he is, or what happened to him, or why.

Fear is not knowing where Sam is.

...

The thing calls itself an angel, but Dean knows better than to trust it. One of the first lessons Dad ever taught him: they’re different than us.

...

**DC BB Playlist:**

“Surprise, Surprise” The Starting Line

“Miracles” Jefferson Starship

“Going to California” Led Zeppelin

“Howl” Florence and the Machine

“Under the Sheets,” Ellie Goulding

“Shake It Out (Acoustic)” Florence and the Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relationship(s): Castiel/Dean Winchester
> 
> Warnings: Almost all of the AUs end unhappily. Specific warnings for language, drug use, alcohol abuse, mental illness, characters going to rehab, violence at a school (think "Heathers"), and major character death. Please let me know if you would like more specific warnings.


	4. SPN: Battlestar Galactica AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We decided to play God, create life. When that life turned against us, we comforted ourselves in the knowledge that it really wasn't our fault, not really. You cannot play God then wash your hands of the things that you've created. Sooner or later, the day comes when you can't hide from the things that you've done anymore.

### Battlestar Galactica AU

"But you don't know," Dean said. "That's the whole point—any one of us could be a damn Cylon and we'd never know, until you or I pulled a gun on the Admiral."

"Exactly," Cas said. "That's why this witch hunt is pointless, Dean; you're not going to find answers by shoving people into bulkheads and demanding reassurances."

"Frak you," Dean shot back hotly. "What do you expect me to do, Cas, sit on my ass and watch us lose more good men to those gods-damned toasters? There are lives on the line—"

"There will always be lives on the line. What you need to focus on is protecting the fleet and covering your ass—"

"You sound like a politician, you know that?" Dean spat, and Cas could hear how betrayed he sounded. "Five minutes with Harvelle and you're another mindless lackey, all concerned with this 'public image' bullshit. This is—Cas. We're talking about the future of the human race, here. There's no backseat. We can't hide from this until it goes away, because until we blow every Cylon out of the sky, we'll never be safe."

"And if we find out you're one of them, Dean?" Cas asked. It was what he feared above all else, even more than finding out that he himself was a Cylon. "What will you do then?"

"What I have to," Dean said. Harsh and unyielding as always. "What I'll do if I find out any one of us is a Cylon. Put 'em down like the machines they are."

...

Character List of Doom

  * Dean Winchester as Kara "Starbuck" Thrace
  * Castiel as Leland "Lee" Adama
    * I went back and forth on these a lot, mostly because John is totally Adama (see below) and I think it would be awesome to explore their father/son relationship vis a vis Lee and Adama BUT how could you cast anyone but Dean as reckless, insubordinate, self-hating, yet extremely talented pilot extraordinaire Kara Thrace?
  * Sam Winchester as Gaius Baltar (hello, he destroyed the world in both medias)
  * Ruby as Six/Caprica Six/etc. (seriously, how good are these parallels)
  * John Winchester as William Adama
  * Ellen Harvelle as Laura Roslin (yes, romance with John implied)
  * Bobby Singer as Saul Tigh [Final Five] (yes, he loses his eye and I'm sorry)
  * Ash as Billy Keikeya (Roslin's advisor)
  * Joanna Harvelle as Tory Foster (Roslin's PR) [Final Five]
  * Archangel Michael as One (John Cavil)
  * Anna Milton as Two (Leoben Conoy) (yes, weird relationship and manipulation of Dean implied)
  * Cassie Robinson as Three (D'Anna Biers)
  * Archangel Raphael as Four (Simon O'Neill)
  * Brady as Five (Aaron Doral)
  * Jessica Moore as Eight (Sharon "Boomer" Valerii) (mostly for the big reveal at the end of season one)
  * Archangel Gabriel as Galen Tyrol [Final Five] (I have zero idea why I liked this idea, it might have just been to get Gabriel in here)
  * Lisa Braeden as Sam Anders [Final Five] (yes, specifically for the Dean/Lisa romance)
  * Mary Winchester as Ellen Tigh [Final Five]
  * And then I have Meg as Dualla (huh?), Casey as "that crazy pilot" (I just had to look up Casey, apparently she's a demon, and I have no idea who the pilot is), Sarah Blake as Karl "Helo" Agathon (romance with Jessica, I guess?), Jody Mills as Felix Gaeta (why?!), and Chuck Shurley as Louis Hoshi (I guess because at the end of BSG, when it looks like death is inevitable, they leave Hoshi as the next president in the event of everyone's death)
  * OH, and I have Crowley as Romo Lampkin just because it's hysterical



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly this is the only snippet I have of this, but I like the potential.
> 
> Relationship(s): nothing explicit, but implied UST between Dean and Castiel because Starbuck/Lee.
> 
> Warnings: Language, use of dehumanizing language towards Cylons. Please let me know if you would like more specific warnings.


	5. SPN: The Family Stone AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin. Supernatural/Family Stone AU where it's Christmas, the Winchesters celebrate in style, and nobody likes Cas (except for Dean, a little bit).
> 
> "Sam brings Castiel home for Christmas. John, Mary, Dean, Adam, and Jo all disapprove. Cas is a fish out of water, but Dean likes him anyway. Cas asks Sarah (Blake) to come stay with the Winchesters for Christmas. Sam really likes Sarah, but he's super awkward because, uh, boyfriend's sister. Meanwhile, Cas is also awkward because, uh, boyfriend's brother. Cas and Dean go out drinking, Sam and Sarah, I don't know, sit in a park and talk or something. Yeah, I don't even know, everything gets revealed on Christmas day, Cas ends up with Dean, Sam ends up with Sarah."

### The Family Stone AU

#####  _Sam_

“They’re going to hate me,” Castiel says glumly from the passenger seat. He hasn’t stopped staring out the window since he got into the car, and the lack of eye contact is driving Sam crazy.

“Hey, look at me. Cas. They are not going to hate you, they’re going to love you.”

“No, they won’t.” He does look at Sam then, and the expression on his face is a little heartbreaking. “I do very poorly around families. You have told me numerous times how ‘socially inept’ I am.”

Sam has to stifle a laugh at that, hearing the air quotes even if Cas doesn’t gesture. “Yeah, you can be a little awkward. But that’s one of things I like best about you.” He reaches out a hand to touch Castiel’s cheek. “Besides, I’m a nerd, and you still put up with me.”

“I find your interest in science fiction and fantasy quite endearing, Sam, you know that.”

Yeah, he does. Sam knows that he and Cas make an odd couple: an environmental lawyer and a big-shot accountant. They come from completely different places, like all disparate things, and look at the world in such divergent ways. Somehow, they still manage to make it work. Sam doesn’t really know how and, to be honest, he doesn’t really care. He and Cas are happy together, that’s all that really matters to him.

Castiel turns his head back to the window as they pull onto Elder Street and Sam lets his hand drop. He hasn’t said anything to Cas, but he’s a little nervous, too. Bringing your significant other home shouldn’t be a big deal, but it is Christmas, and his family is, for lack of a better word, nuts. Sam has a bad feeling that before the weekend’s over, heads are going to roll. He hopes the other Winchesters don’t send Cas running for the hills, but it’s a distinct possibility.

“We’re here,” he says cheerfully. “Come on, smile, or they’re going to think I spent the whole ride torturing you.”

Cas manages something that looks more like a grimace (god, Dean’s going to have a field day with him) and Sam smiles back. “It’ll be fine, Cas.”

“I’m sure,” Castiel says, squaring his shoulders and opening his door.

When Sam had called his family early in December to let them know that he was bringing Castiel home for Christmas, he’d been met with a chorus of complaints. Most of them had been from Dean: his big brother was very vocal about how Sam was going to ruin Christmas and destroy the sanctity of the holiday and start World War III if he brought his boyfriend back to Lawrence for Christmas week.

Surprisingly, his mom had also been upset although, in Mary’s defense, she just thought the holiday season was the worst time to introduce anyone to their family. His dad had agreed, citing Dean’s pie-induced mania (which began, annually, around December 18 and ran through to New Year’s) and Jo’s seasonal depression as deterrents. Adam still didn’t understand why Sam had never brought Castiel home before. 

All in all, the build up to their car ride was pretty stressful. 

Castiel, in addition to being awkward around new people, had never celebrated the holidays as a kid. His family was the kind of devout Catholic that spent their time in prayer and meditation, not singing carols and playing in the snow.

Sam, if pressed, didn’t actually have an answer to the question of why he’d chosen Christmas to introduce Castiel to the insanity that was the Winchester clan, except for the way Jo had narrowed her eyes and said, “If you’re not serious about him, what are you doing together?” Sam was serious about Castiel; so serious that he’d started thinking about their future, joint bank accounts, the whole deal.

So serious that he wasn’t sure how involved he wanted Castiel to be with his family. If there was ever a group of people more likely to send someone running for the hills, he hadn’t met them. 

Sam loved his family. Really, he did. But he also recognized the fact that they all had a tendency towards overinvolvement in each other’s lives that bordered on the abnormal. It was one of the main reasons he’d left Kansas, although he’d never told that to anyone but Cas. He thought his mom would get it.

He was sure that Dean and his dad never would. 

It wasn’t even that his mom would pull out the hideously embarrassing baby photos or that Jo would drag out every stupid stunt he’d ever pulled to impress a girl. It was the way that Dean would make crude jokes about his and Cas’ sex life and not see anything wrong with it, or how his dad would ask Sam patronizing questions about when he’d last changed his oil like he was still a teenager. 

Because Sam has the worst luck of anyone he’s ever met, it’s of course Dean who opens the front door. Only seconds have passed since Sam knocked; Dean’s probably been waiting on the other side for minutes, determined to be the first person to see Sam. Knowing his big brother, Dean’s probably also spent all that time trying to come up with a witty rejoinder to throw at Sam the minute he enters the house. It’s pretty even odds between a comment about his hair, his height, or (more worryingly) his boyfriend.

“Well, well, well,” Dean says with a grin, pulling the door open so hard that it hits the wall of the foyer. From inside, Sam can vaguely hear his mom yelling. “If it isn’t Sasquatch himself.” 

Hair and height, then.

“I swear, you grow about a foot every time I see you,” Dean says, pulling Sam into a tight hug. “You’re gonna give a guy a complex.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to see you, too, Dean,” Sam says, eyes rolling.

“Of course it’s nice to see you,” Dean replies, pulling away. “It’d be even nicer to see you more than twice a year, you know. Maybe then I could remember what you look like.”

Sam shakes his head. The more things change, the more they stay the same, right? He thinks that’s how the saying goes. If Dean’s any indication, the rest of this week is going to be great. He can just imagine the kind of comments he’s going to get from his dad.

“And this must be Loverboy, huh?” Dean asks, interrupting his train of thought. The thought ‘Run while you still can!’ briefly occurs to Sam, but he pushes it away and instead frowns at his brother.

“My name is Castiel,” Cas says, like he thinks that Dean might actually have been confused about that. Or maybe he’s just screwing with Dean; Cas has a great poker face, sometimes it’s hard for even Sam to recognize the difference.

“Yeah, I know. Hi, I’m Dean,” his brother says, sticking out a hand still covered in motor oil. Castiel doesn’t hesitate before reaching out and shaking it.

“Yes, I know.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence where Sam looks at Cas, Cas is staring at Dean, and Dean raises an eyebrow at Sam, as if to say, ‘really?’ It lasts longer than is comfortable, mostly because if you don’t distract Castiel with something, he’ll keep staring indefinitely. Sam already knows that Dean is going to find a thousand things to pick on Cas about, so he doesn’t want to help him find anymore ammo. 

“Let’s get this show on the road, huh?” Dean says, a little too loudly, clapping his hands together. “Come on, everybody’s in the kitchen waiting for you guys. Mom wanted to hang out on the porch and get first dibs, but Dad talked her out of it.”

“I’m a little surprised Jo didn’t rig a catapult to shoot rocks at us as a greeting,” Sam admits. Every time he comes back to Lawrence, Jo finds a way to simultaneously say ‘Welcome back,’ and ‘If you ever leave us again, I’ll kick your ass.’ As much as her pranks always hurt (he’d ended up with a black eye last year), Sam likes them. It’s a reminder that his little sister hasn’t totally given up on him.

“Yeah, Dad talked her out of that, too,” Dean says, throwing a grin over his shoulder as he walks down the hallway. “She tried to argue that it was a tradition, but Dad gave her that look and she stopped.” Dean shrugs. “Well, she says that she stopped. I’d keep an eye out for saran wrap on the toilet or a bucket over your door if I was you.”

“Duly noted,” Castiel chimes in from behind. Dean looks a little surprised, probably that Cas isn’t asking questions like, ‘Why would your sister do that?’ but Sam had given him, ‘The Winchesters: An Overview’ on the flight, and Jo’s pranks were close to the top of the list of stuff to watch out for. Sam hoped his sister didn’t decided that initiation by Nair was the best way to bring Castiel into the family, but it was always hard to tell with Jo. 

To be honest, Sam would actually prefer tricks and salt in Castiel’s coffee, if it was a choice between that and Jo just laying into him. Dean was crude and made inappropriate jokes at the worst possible times, but Jo was well-known for having such a sharp tongue that she’d made half her middle school cry after just a year. Every time his parents got called into the principal’s office, Jo would argue that it wasn’t her fault that people were too dumb to think of a comeback and too sensitize to be able to take constructive criticism. Every time Jo tried to use that excuse, his parents and the principal would just sigh, because Jo on a warpath was unstoppable, even at age eleven. She hadn’t mellowed out at all in the intervening years.

“I mean, you should be fine. Jo already met you in California, didn’t she?”

“We spoke briefly,” Castiel answers, which is a polite way of saying, ‘She met me and hated my guts.’ Actually, Sam isn’t sure how much Cas picked up on that; Jo hides her venom well enough that someone who isn’t clued into social cues might not even pick up on it. He hopes Castiel didn’t realize how much Jo disliked him.

“You’re good, then. It’s Dad you have to watch out for.”

“Oh?” Castiel asks. 

“Dean, don’t start,” Sam warns his brother. They’re right outside the kitchen and Sam wants to get in, make his introductions, and then escape upstairs to mentally prepare for his week. Five hours on the airplane wasn’t enough.

Dean holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine, let the guy go in unarmed. You’re going to be the one dealing with the wreckage.”

“I highly doubt it will be that bad,” Castiel interjects. “After all, isn’t every parent’s hope that their child will find someone who loves them?”

“I think our parents’ greatest hope was that none of us ended up in prison, but sure.”

“Then your parents and I should get along well, when they see how much I care about Sam,” Castiel says firmly, grabbing Sam’s hand. Sam hadn’t actually thought about walking into the kitchen like that, but Cas is right. They’re together, they’ve got each other’s backs. It can’t be that bad.

Famous last words, Sam thinks, before he and Cas follow Dean through the swinging door. 

Sometimes when Sam comes home, it feels like he never left. Little things are always different, like how his mom painted the living room cream and the way there are beautiful new rose bushes in the front yard. Even Dean has changed; his shoulders have filled out even more and there are new wrinkles around his eyes. But when Sam walks into the kitchen and sees his whole family clustered around the table, everyone clutching a coffee mug in one hand and all talking animatedly (or, in the case of Dad and Adam, arguing vehemently), he could be eighteen again, walking downstairs again on his way to high school. It’s like the house is stuck in some kind of time warp, like in the kind of cheesy sci-fi novels Sam loves to read. He feels, simultaneously, like he’s been gone forever and for no time at all.

His mom’s the first one to stop talking, pushing away from the island she’d been leaning on and walking over to the two of them. She pulls Sam into a hug without even a word, wrapping her arms around his chest while he rests his chin on the top of her head.

“Hi, honey,” she says, her voice slightly muffled against Sam’s sweater. 

“Hi, Mom,” Sam says, blinking back tears, because he still misses his mother all the time, even if California was the right thing to do.

When Mary pulls back, Sam sees that she hasn’t even bothered trying to stop from crying. She looks happy, too, and older, and Sam can’t stop staring at her for a long minute, while all the noise in the kitchen just seems to fade away.

His mom squeezes his arm once, briefly, where she’s still holding onto him, before turning to Castiel, who had taken a step backwards during the hug. “You must be Castiel, it’s so nice to meet you,” she says, smiling at him.

“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Winchester,” Cas says, ever formal when it comes to his elders. He holds out his right hand, but Mary just laughs.

“None of that. If you’re going to be a guest in our home, we’re going to treat you just like family,” she tells him, pulling Castiel into a hug. He looks baffled, and a little panicked, and Dean, fixing his own coffee in the corner, snickers. 

Cas recovers after a second, awkwardly patting Mary on the back. “Thank you for having me.”

“Anytime,” his mom says, stepping back and briskly wiping the tears off her cheeks. “Now, let’s do introductions so that I can get some food into you boys, you must be starving after that flight.”

“Not at all—” Cas begins, but Sam cuts him off before he can finish.

“Don’t even bother, food is the number one bonding activity in this family. If you don’t say ‘yes’ now, she’s just going to follow you around all time, pushing plates into your face.”

“Sam, don’t give him advanced warning,” his mom scolds. “Now I’m going to have to be sneaky about it.”

Sam just laughs. “Sure. You, sneaky.”

“I’ll have you know your mother can be wily when she tries,” his dad says, standing up and walking towards him. “Sam. It’s good to see you again.”

“You too, Dad,” Sam replies. He thinks it must make him a horrible person that his first thought is, ‘Be nice. Remember if you fight, you’re going to ruin everyone’s Christmas, not just yours.’ He’s going to have to try to remember that all week long.

He can’t help but tense up when Dad turns to Cas, though. His dad isn’t that much taller than Castiel, but he has this way of looming over people. Dean says it’s being ex-USMC, Jo says it’s having killed people, and Adam says it’s just because he’s their dad. Sam isn’t sure who he agrees with, but he’s got height on his dad and he still feels like a eleven year-old shrimp whenever his dad pulls this schtick on him. 

“So you’re his boyfriend, huh?” John asks. To his credit, Castiel doesn’t flinch, back down, or even try and break eye contact. It’s probably a good thing that Sam found someone so far out on the sociality spectrum, he can’t imagine any of his exes being able to handle his dad’s intensity.

“Yes,” Castiel replies, sticking his hand back out for John to shake. His dad just stares at it for a second, then back at Castiel’s face, and for a second, Sam is ready to explode—seriously? After all this time and all the shit they’ve gone through?—but then his dad reaches out his own hand (and Sam can read the reluctance in that move, his father is so predictable) and grabs Cas’. 

“Well, that was sufficiently awkward,” Adam says over the rim of his coffee cup. “Dad, if you’re done being a weirdo?”

John just mutters something under his breath—nothing good, Sam’s willing to bet big on that—and moves back to his seat. Mary gives him a dirty look that no one but Sam sees, and his dad raises his hands in acquiescence. 

Adam takes Dad’s place, hugging Sam for a minute before turning to shake Castiel’s hand. “Hey man, welcome to the family. They’re not as crazy as they look, I swear.”

“They don’t appear mentally ill at all,” Cas says, sounding puzzled, which gets a laugh from everyone but Jo, who’s got one eyebrow raised as she stares Castiel down.

After a minute where everyone stares at Jo, not-so-subtly waiting for her to say hello, Sam says, “I guess since the mountain’s not coming to Mohammed, he has to go to the mountain, huh?” not even bothering to wait for Jo to move. She’s got the Winchester obstinacy in spades and Sam knows that he could wait all day to get a hug from his little sister.

“Maybe if Mohammed hadn’t relocated halfway across the country, the mountain would find it a little easier to get there,” Jo says, without even the slightest veneer of civility. Jesus, she and Dean could be twins. 

“Well, Mohammed had a college degree to get and a job to find, so I guess the mountain’s going to have to get over it and receive her Christmas hug with grace,” Sam replies, picking Jo up from her chair in a bear hug and holding her so tightly that she can’t get away from him.

“Dude, give it a rest with the analogies,” Dean says, flipping through the newspaper. “Not everyone here went to an Ivy.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure that reference went way over your head. How about I use Joe Montana next time?”

Dean grins up at him. “Now you’re talking, Sammy.”

Sam finally puts Jo down, after deeming that she’s put up with his octopus arms and airport stench for long enough. She makes a big show of brushing her clothes off, like Sam had purposely mussed up her look. Just for that, he gives her a noogie.

“Ugh, get off of me, you mountain man!” Jo yelps, trying to push Sam away. She has no luck, of course, because Sam can bench two twenty five and Jo is five foot four. Because his sister is the smartest member of his family, though, she slams her foot down hard over his and when he lets go reflexively, out of the pain, she pushes him off. Castiel is right behind him, just in time to put a steadying hand on Sam’s elbow and stop him from falling over. 

“You’re such a savage,” Jo mutters, shaking her hair out. “I think California made you even worse.”

“Hello, Joanna,” Castiel says, after finally helping Sam straighten up. “It is good to see you again.”

Jo makes a noise that can only be qualified as “hrmph” before she sits back down, resolutely ignoring the hand that Cas sticks out in her direction. After a few seconds, Cas’s hand wavers, then returns to his side. Mary’s eyebrows have risen all the way to her hairline and even John looks surprised at Jo’s rudeness. Sam feels his heart sink. It’s going to be hard enough to deal with Dad all week; if Jo is going to out-bitch herself, things are going to be twice as bad for him. 

Dean, apparently unfazed by all of this, reaches across the table and smacks Jo solidly in the back of her head, ducking back before Jo can retaliate.

“Ow, Dean!”

“Stop being a dick,” Dean says mildly, sounding oddly like their dad, fifteen years ago.

“Language, Dean!” Mary scolds, but a corner of her mouth is raised and Sam can tell that she secretly approves. 

“Dean, stop hitting your sister. Joanna, stop being rude,” John says, and it really is like they’re all little again. Sam would feel embarrassed, to be treated like a kid in front of his boyfriend, but he’s too satisfied at seeing Jo getting into trouble. Adam’s the baby of the family, but Jo’s always been the apple of John’s eye. Sam never really minded, because they all loved her something crazy, but it’s still nice to see her getting her share for once.

There’s another awkward silence, broken only by Castiel saying, “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Winchester.” It’s such a blatant attempt to break the tension—and so out of character for Castiel, who usually stares at people in fascination when they argue—that it startles a laugh out of Sam and brings a smile to his mom’s face.

“Thank you, but please, call me Mary,” his mom insists. “Come on, let me get you something to eat.”

“No, Mom, we’re going to go upstairs and drop off our stuff, okay?” Sam says, pulling Castiel towards the door. Once his mother gets her hooks in Cas, they’re never going to get away, and he’s not in the mood to face the Spanish Inquisition after the flight, and the drive, and the exhaustion that’s already seeping in after only a half an hour with his family. 

Mary purses her lips, but lets them go without a fight, which has to be a first in the Winchester household. “Alright. If you guys want to take a nap, we’re not having dinner until six. I’ll come wake you two up.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Sam says, grateful that they’re escaping (more or less) unscathed. He’s definitely going to have a talk with Jo before dinner, a night full of her attitude isn’t going to go over well with anybody.

“Thank you, Mrs. W—Mary,” Castiel self-corrects, stumbling slightly over the name. Because Castiel is the kind of person who only ever refers to his brothers by their full, Christian names (Sam had made the mistake of saying, “Mike” one time, which had horrified the Blakes to no end), Sam finds this accomplishment mildy amazing. That has to say something about his mental state.

“It was very nice to meet you all,” Cas calls out over his shoulder, while Sam all but drags him away. Adam throws them a wave, while Jo concentrates on texting someone and resolutely ignoring them both. Dean, surprisingly, abandons the newspaper and stands up.

“Let me give you a hand with the bags,” he says. “You know Dad’s getting too old for that, and Adam here’s a weakling.”

Dean manages to duck their dad’s hand, as he reaches out for a cuffing, but he has no such luck with Adam, who lands a solid punch to his shoulder. Dean grunts and Adam just grins.

“Keep in mind I could take you in a fight or kill you with science,” he says. “Now that’s not a threat, but it’s definitely a warning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says rubbing his shoulder and grimacing. “Kids these days, huh, Sammy?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Adam’s twenty-one, about to graduate, and you still think he’s a kid? Alright, Dad.”

“Shut up,” Dean throws back, but good-naturedly, and they could be twenty again, ribbing each other over something stupid, like Cassie Robinson or Cara Roberts. 

They all grab a bag, or two in Dean’s case, and start trudging up the stairs. Sam has never known if the big house led to all the kids, or all the kids led to a big house, but they’ve got bedrooms to spare, probably because his mom had the foresight to realize that, no matter who left, they’d always want to come back at some point.

And bring a significant other with them. Sam sneaks a look at Castiel, trying to see how he’s holding up after first contact with the Winchesters (second, actually, if you count Jo in California). He looks okay, not shell-shocked by the weirdness or offended by anybody’s comments, which is about as well as Sam could hope for. What percentage of their vacation is already done? Is there some kind of formula he can use to determine the number of uncomfortable situations that are going to arise between now and then?

“So you’re an accountant?” Dean asks, interrupting Sam’s thoughts. As a conversation starter, it’s one of the safest things his brother could start with, which immediately makes Sam suspicious. The next question is probably going to be, ‘Are you really all animals in the sack?’

“Yes, I work for the offices of Deloitte in San Diego. That’s actually where I met Sam.”

“Cool,” Dean says, which earns him an incredulous look from Sam. When has Dean ever thought that anything to do with accounting was cool? This must be leading up to something.

“And you’re a mechanic, yes?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “I work with our dad at his garage. Well, it’s belongs to him and a friend, but Bobby’s up in South Dakota, he just helped Dad buy the place.” 

“Is Bobby coming down this year?” Sam asks. It’s been—Jesus, a few years since he’s seen Bobby and he feels suddenly guilty at how long it’s been since he thought about his uncle.

Dean looks at him. “Nah, he and Karen are staying home, Bobby said he’s got some big romantic thing planned. Probably going to marinate a turkey in Scotch or something. They were here for Thanksgiving, though.” He’s quiet for a second. “You should give him a call, he asked about you.”

Sam swallows hard. “Yeah,” he says. “Will do.”

Castiel looks between them but, wisely, doesn’t comment on how their Thanksgiving was pretty shitty and how easy it would have been for the two of them to fly out to Lawrence and visit. Castiel had asked him, way back at the start of November, if he wanted to go home, but Sam had been adamant that they have their own holiday, start some new traditions in their little apartment in San Diego. It would have been nice, though, to see Bobby and Karen. But he probably wouldn’t have been able to handle his dad again, at Christmas, if he’d just seen him the month before. Usually, they need a good six months between visits to be anything approaching social. 

“Here we go,” Dean says, shouldering his way through the door to Sam’s bedroom. Everyone’s got a queen (except his parents), just another example of his mom’s foresight. The thought of trying to cram onto a double with Castiel is mildly terrifying, even if Sam had always had an extra long mattress growing up. Dean drops the two bags right on top of Sam’s bed, because he’s mature like that. Sam just makes a face.

“Thanks.”

Dean isn’t even looking at him. He’s staring at Castiel, who still has his own bag gripped tightly in one hand. “Dude, you can drop the bag. This isn’t an endurance competition.” 

Castiel frowns at Dean. “If you can just point me in the direction of my room, I’d prefer not to leave my things all over Sam’s floor.

Dean’s eyebrows fly up and he turns his head towards Sam. “Did you—”

“No,” Sam says. “Cas, we’re sharing a room.”

This time, it’s Castiel’s turn to look shocked, or as shocked as he ever does. “No, we’re not,” he replies. “I’m staying in a guest room, aren’t I?”

Dean shakes his head. “Mom never said anything about that, I’m pretty sure you’re bunking in here.”

Castiel opens his mouth, then closes it again. His brow is furrowed. “Dean. Can you give us a moment, please.”

“Sure,” Dean says. “I’ll just—” and he vaguely gestures in the air with both hands before moving off to a corner of Sam’s room and staring doggedly at an old ‘Lord of the Rings’ poster on one wall.

“Sam,” Castiel says, making no effort to pitch his voice lower than usual. “I am not sharing a bed with you in your parents’ home.”

Sam shoots a look at Dean—who has started whistling Deep Purple, in an obvious attempt to give them privacy—before turning back to Castiel. “We share a bed and an apartment, Cas. My parents know that.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Castiel says heatedly. “It’s not proper for us to share a room, especially since we’re unwed.”

Dean makes a noise like he’s choking, smacking himself on the chest and then saying, “My bad,” when Sam and Castiel both glare at him. He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns back around, this time humming Metallica under his breath.

“Are you saying—” Sam remembers only at the last second to lower his voice, although it’s not going to make a difference with Dean right there, “that we’re not going to—to do anything while we’re here?”

“Oh, god,” Sam hears from the corner, although he refuses to turn around.

Castiel looks absolutely horrified. “Of course we’re not going to have sex while we’re here, Sam!” he says in a voice that, Sam’s sure, carries all the way to the kitchen. “That would be extremely disrespectful to your parents and their hospitality.” He stares at Sam intently. “I can’t believe you’re even asking that.”

Sam throws up his hands. There’s only so much of a conversation like this that he can take while his older brother’s in the room, and he passed that quota about four minutes ago. “Okay, fine. You want a separate room, you got it. Put the bag down, though, I need to go put sheets on one of the other beds.”

“I got it,” Dean says, practically racing towards the door. His ears, Sam notes, are bright red. Good, that’s what he gets for assuming “Give us our privacy” meant “Hang out three feet away.”

As soon as Dean has left the room, an even more awkward silence falls. Sam’s staring at the walls of his bedroom, thinking about the last time he stayed here and wondering how hard it’s going to be to fall asleep alone when he feels Castiel’s hand on his shoulder.

“Sam,” Castiel begins, sounding unsure. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression or if I embarrassed you in front of your brother. I just—I don’t feel comfortable staying here with you. I know you’re family doesn’t like me very much—”

“Hey,” Sam interrupts, turning around to face his boyfriend. “That’s not true. My mom already loves you.”

Castiel manages a weak smile. “And your father clearly disapproves and Joanna has made no effort to hide her disdain of me since California. It’s alright,” he says, shaking off Sam before he can do more than open his mouth. “I wasn’t expecting them to love me, especially not at first sight. But while I’m here, I don’t want to give them any more reasons to dislike me. Can you understand that?”

“Yeah, Cas, of course I can,” Sam says, feeling ashamed of how he’d reacted before. He gets it—if they were spending Christmas in New York, with Castiel’s family, he’d probably feel awkward about sharing a bed in their house, with everyone assuming that they’d be up there having sex every night. “I’m sorry I pushed you on it, I’m just going to miss sleeping with you for a week. Actually sleeping with you,” he says, off Castiel’s look, “not just the sex part.”

Castiel smiles and cards his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Then rest assured that I will more than make it up to you when we get back to San Diego.”

Sam grins back. “Deal.”

Their kiss is, unsurprisingly, interrupted by Dean, who doesn’t even have the tact to knock on the door, barging right in with a towel clutched in one hand.

“All set! Oh, sorry,” he says, unapologetically as Sam and Castiel break apart. “Actually no, I’m not, if you two are going to be celibate for a week, no sense in getting excited now!” He claps a confused Castiel on the back. “Third door on the left, bathroom’s at the end of the hall, here’s a towel. The Jayhawks are playing Iowa State, I gotta go,” he explains as he rushes back out the door, all but throwing the towel at Castiel’s head.

“…I don’t understand,” Castiel admits, half a minute later.

Sam can’t help but laugh. “Come on, let’s lay down. If I explain college football to you, it’ll definitely put us to sleep.”

Castiel frowns, but Sam forestalls his objections by saying, “We’re not fornicating under somebody else’s roof, we’re just getting in a hour of shut-eye before dinner. Trust me, you’re going to want to be rested for it.”

It’s not until Castiel is tucked under his arm, lulled to sleep by talk of first downs and receptions, that Sam feels content for the first time all day.

The worst part of it all is that dinner actually starts off promising. Sam had woken from his nap feeling both rejuvenated and extremely hungry, and the little smile Castiel had given him, when he’d opened his eyes to Sam’s face, had made the ‘not sharing a bedroom’ thing a little better.

When they get downstairs, it’s to find Jo and Adam’s girlfriend, Meredith, kicking the guys’ asses at Modern Warfare 3. Dean groans loudly as Jo shoots him in the head, before dropping her controller and high-fiving Meredith.

“Suck it, boom!” Jo cries, laughing at the look on Dean’s face. Adam gives his brother a disgusted look.

“For someone who taught me how to play video games, you really suck,” he tells Dean. “Seriously, I want one of the girls on my team next time.” 

Dean stares at Adam with an obviously fake look of hurt on his face. “You know what? Just for that, you’re getting coal in your stocking this year. And you’re getting anger management classes!” he shouts at Jo, who waves him off while she walks into the kitchen. Dean makes a face at her retreating back before catching sight of Sam and Castiel.

“Oh hey, guys. What’s up?”

“Hi, Sam!” Meredith calls out from the couch, where she and Adam are engaged in a thumb war over who’s playing the next round. “And hi, Cas, I’m Meredith, Adam’s girlfriend. I’d get up, but I’m a little busy kicking my boyfriend’s ass right now.”

Now that Jo’s gone inside, Dean’s pulled his cell phone out and he’s tapping away at the screen.

“Hello,” Castiel says. “Were you here before?”

“Nah, I think I pulled in right after you guys. I gunned it from the airport, I’m so beat.”

“Meredith is pre-med, too,” Adam explains to Castiel. “She works in this lab at school, but she got a few days off for Christmas.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Castiel says. Sam gives up trying to read Dean’s text messages over his shoulder when Castiel reaches out and grabs his hand. “Should we go see if your parents needs any help?” 

“Um,” Sam replies, grimacing, “unless you want to get into an epic battle over the right way to mash a potato, we’re probably safer out here. They’re probably almost done anyway.”

“Sit down,” Dean says, getting up and gently pushing Castiel down onto the armchair. “You’re a guest here, you don’t have to worry about that stuff. I’ll get us some beers.”

“Take it easy with the drinking, Dean,” Sam says, noticing that there are already a few empties on the floor. The last thing they need is for Dean to go on a bender in front of their whole family. It’s hard to get him to act decent on a normal day, adding alcohol to the mix will just make him unbearable.

Dean shoots him a dirty look. “Thanks, Sam. Why don’t you take that attitude and shove it up your ass?” 

Sam’s mouth actually drops open for a second—he’d forgotten how hard Dean can hit, when he aims—before he covers. Meredith and Adam are studiously ignoring them, talking about the latest trials at her job, while Castiel stares at them, interest written all over his face.

“I didn’t mean—whatever, Dean, forget it,” Sam says, wanting to head off a fight before it can start. “Get me a Bud, will you?”

“Cas, what do you drink?”

“Water,” Castiel replies, after a moment’s hesitation. “Thank you.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise, but he, thankfully, doesn’t comment. “Sure thing.”

“Grab us a couple, too!” Adam yells at Dean’s retreating back, while Meredith tries (and fails) to hide a giggle behind one hand.

“Sorry, pipsqueak, your birthday isn’t until February,” Deans says, with a grin. “Can’t be providing alcohol to minors, what would the cops think?”

“No one needs to know but the five of us,” Meredith tries, making her most ‘reasonable person’ face.

“I don’t know, ask the morality police over there,” Dean says, waving a hand in Sam’s direction before he walks into the kitchen.

Sam’s face is burning as Adam, Meredith, and Castiel all stare at him. Adam’s look is incredulous. “Really, Sam? That’s the first fight you wanna pick? Jesus, have fun dealing with him after this.”

“What,” Sam snaps, “like you weren’t thinking it, too.”

“Sam,” Castiel asks, “is your brother a functioning alcoholic?”

Meredith tries, and fails, to stifle an abrupt snort, while Adam looks at Cas in horror.

“No,” Sam says. “He just…like to drink a lot sometimes. It’s fine, I just don’t want this to be one of those nights where he uses it as an excuse to say stupid things.”

“He doesn’t need an excuse, he’s Dean,” Adam argues.

“Yeah, like you’ve never noticed that having a few drinks in him is the perfect justification to say whatever dumb stuff he normally holds back,” Sam retorts. “Look, let’s just drop it.”

There’s a beat of silence before Meredith says, “Does that mean I can have my beer?” and Sam can’t help but laugh at her persistence.

“No driving after this,” he warns. 

Meredith raises two fingers to her forehead. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Girl Scout,” Adam protests. “Stop lying.”

“That has absolutely no bearing on my honor, stop inferring,” she shoots back. 

His mom sticks her head out of the kitchen before Adam can think of a comeback. “Food’s up, guys. Thanks for the lack of help all around. I am looking at you, mister,” she says, pointing to Sam when Castiel starts apologizing. “Get going, kids.”

“Twenty eight and she still calls me a kid,” Sam mutters, as he leads Castiel to the dining room. 

“What, princess, are you telling me you don’t like pet names?” Dean asks, cocking an eyebrow. “Come on, Cas, tell us. What does Sammy here like to be called in bed?”

“Dean!” their mother snaps. “Watch your language.”

“I’m usually incapable of coherency by that point,” Castiel says, absolutely straight-faced. John spits his beer halfway across the kitchen while Sam turns an even deeper shade of red.

Dean laughs, because he’s a jerk like that. “Wow, Sam, I’m impressed. That’s probably the first and last time someone gave you such a good review.”

“Actually, Sam is well-known back in California for—” Castiel begins, before Sam forcibly claps a hand over his mouth. His eyes narrow in consternation.

“I think that’s enough, Cas.”

“Thank God,” John says. Sam is trying very hard to avoid making eye contact with anybody at the moment, but he thinks he can see Adam make some sort of sympathetic grimace from his right.

“Everyone sit,” Mary calls out. “Help yourself, there’s more in the kitchen.”

Sam sends a ‘thank you’ to God, or whoever’s up there, that his parents are the kind of people for whom ‘repress and deny’ is practically a lifestyle. Absolutely the last thing he wants to do right now is have any kind of discussion about Castiel, their relationship, their sex life, or any combination of those things.

Because God doesn’t appreciate Sam Winchester, even though he generally tries to be a good person, give to charity, and help his fellow man, as soon as everyone is seated, Dean starts right up again. “Let’s talk about that incoherency, huh? I always said Sammy had to be a tiger in the sack, Winchesters always are.”

“Dean, do not start,” Mary warns. Her voice is deceptively soft, but Sam has seen her go from calm to nuclear in a matter of seconds, so he really hopes his brother heeds the warning.

“Dean, unless you want me to puke all over my plate and your shirt, you had better stop talking right now,” Jo says, piping up for the first time since they’d walked into the dining room. Her skin is actually tinged green, so Sam thinks that she might make good on her threat.

Dean holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Just trying to make conversation guys.”

“Please, don’t,” their father says. “Ever again, Dean. I don’t know who taught you table manners, but it sure wasn’t us.”

“Meredith, how’s school?” Mary asks. “Are you all ready for graduation in May?”

“Yup,” Meredith says, in between bites of pasta. “Adam and I are just working on our med school applications right now.”

“Where are you two looking?” John chimes in.

“I think Washington University is at the top of the list, isn’t it?” Meredith says, mostly to Adam. He shoots her a look that Sam can’t decipher, before clearing his throat.

“Yeah, they’re actually ranked number four in research in the whole country. It’s a really great program.”

“Washington University? That’s right over in St. Louis, isn’t it?” Mary asks, in a voice that seems off to Sam. He exchanges a look with Dean, who’s noticed it, too. “Well, you two would be so close to Lawrence.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Adam says, scratching the back of his head. “You know, I stayed so close to home for undergrad, we just thought it’d be nice to get away.”

“That’d be great!” their dad says, enthusiastically. “You two’d be just a few hours away, you wouldn’t have to fly back all the time. And they’ve got some great sports teams up there.”

“Hell, I’ll drive over and catch some games with you if you’re that close,” Dean adds, taking another swig of his beer.

“We haven’t decided anything yet,” Adam warns. “I mean, we haven’t even been accepted, so don’t jump the gun, guys.”

“Well, you two are both very intelligent, I’m sure you’ll be able to go wherever you want,” Mary says, before turning to Jo. “How’s the food, honey?”

His mother’s dismissal is so obvious—and so uncharacteristic of her—that Sam, Dean, and their dad all share a surprised glance. Sam looks over at Castiel, who seems ready to say something that will probably make everything a hundred times worse, and squeezes his hand quickly. Castiel looks down, then up, and seems to get it, turning back to his food without comment.

“It’s good, Mom, thanks,” Jo replies. 

“So, Cas, you got any brother or sisters?” Dean asks. Sam glances at his brother in surprise, but Dean’s face is the picture of innocence. Sam should probably just be grateful that Dean is—for maybe the first time—helping to break an awkward silence instead of starting one.

“Yes,” Castiel says, looking a little surprised himself at the inquiry. “I have a sister, Sarah. She is an artist in New York City.”

“No jokes about how much dating advice he must have gotten,” Sam interjects, just as Dean is opening his mouth. “Furthermore, no jokes about how it was all a waste since he ended up with a guy.”

Dean closes his mouth, looking smug. “Gone for years and he still knows me so well. I’m proud of you, Sammy.”

“Thanks,” Sam says, dryly. “You’re pretty predictable, you know.”

“No brothers?” Adam asks. “I guess you missed out on a lifetime of wet willies and being short-sheeted.”

“What about Mike and Gabriel?” Sam says to Castiel in an undertone.

Castiel shrugs. “I grew up with two foster brothers, but I don’t consider them my siblings the way I do Sarah. I’m sure you understand,” he adds, when no one responds.

“Why would we understand?” John asks, in a voice that makes it dangerously clear (at least to Sam) that ‘pissed’ and wrathful’ are well within reach. For some reason, Sam can see the trainwreck that’s about to happen right in front of his eyes, but he can’t say or do anything to stop it. 

“Because you yourself have adopted a child. Surely your relationship with Jo is different from your relationships with your biological children.”

“When you’re a parent, of course you connect differently to all your kids, but Jo is our child, Castiel, and we treat her the same way we treat the boys,” Mary says calmly. Next to her, John’s face is starting to turn red from the effort he’s exerting not to yell. 

“But your relationship with Jo is fundamentally different because she’s not naturally a part of your family,” Castiel continues, in a reasonable voice, like he’s talking about the weather or the traffic or something that isn’t Sam’s family. Across the table, Meredith’s mouth has actually dropped open in shock, and Adam and Dean are wearing matching looks of disbelief. Sam can only see Jo out of the corner of his eye; he’s afraid that if he looks at her, if he sees the expression on her face, something bad is going to happen.

“After all,” Castiel adds and he’s focusing so hard on his meal that he’s missing the horrified looks that the rest of the Winchesters are shooting him; Sam can’t think of how to make him aware, because his mouth has currently decided to stop working. “Rates of victimization are much higher amongst non-biological children, because there isn’t the same impetus to protect one’s own genes. It makes sense—”

“Shut up,” John says, low and dark, and Castiel starts in surprise. He looks around the dinner table and seems confused by the looks on everyone’s face. Castiel turns to Sam last, and he can’t even imagine what his own expression must look like right now.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel begins, his confusion evident in his tone. “I didn’t mean—”

“Then maybe you should explain what you did ‘mean,’ because if I have to listen to another word of you insulting my daughter and my family, we’re going to have a problem here.”

“No, you misunderstood—” Cas tries again, but he stops at the look of sheer wrath on John’s face.

“Oh, so you weren’t trying to tell my family about how much less love we should have for Jo, just because Mary didn’t give birth to her? You weren’t trying to make her feel like an outsider from her own family?”

“No!” Castiel says. “Not at all. I just meant—”

“Castiel, stop,” Mary says firmly. “Just stop. I don’t think you should continue down this line of thinking, because it’s pretty clear that we have very different definitions of ‘family.’ And I think that’s enough of this conversation.”

Castiel looks around the table again, this time, with his cheeks flaming. Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen Castiel blush like this before. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone this embarrassed before, especially not in the face of his family’s hostility.

“I’m sorry,” he says stiffly, pushing his chair back from the table and standing up. “Excuse me.”

Castiel walks out of the dining room with the weight of five angry stares on his back. Sam is looking instead at Jo, who’s looking down at her plate like it holds the secret to the life, universe, and everything. Or, maybe more accurately, like she’s trying hard not to start crying in front of her entire family. When his parents turn back towards the table, their eyes are immediately drawn towards their daughter.

“Hey. Look at me,” Mary says. When Jo continues to stare down at her plate, their mom slams a fist on the table and everyone jumps. Sam can count the number of times he’s seen their mom get genuinely angry and yell on one hand. On three fingers, to be exact.

“You look at me right now, Joanna Beth,” Mary says, in a voice that’s equal parts commanding and terrifying. When Jo finally does look up, twin spots of anger high on her cheeks, Mary looks at her for a long minute before continuing. “Now you listen to me, Jo. You are as much a member of this family as any of the assholes sitting at this table.” 

Dean snickers at that, but otherwise keeps silent. Mary levels him with a stare before going on. “Your mother was my best friend. When she asked me to take care of you, the reason I said ‘yes’ was because you were already as much my daughter as anyone I could have given birth to. And I don’t care where you came from or what your last name is, you are my girl. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Sam, who had started crying right around the first sentence, is not at all surprised to see that every member of his family either has tears in their eyes or, in his dad’s case, streaming down their face. Jo, whose face had crumpled when Mary mentioned Ellen, is crying, too, but she’s also smiling through her tears and she reaches across the table, trays of food be damned, to grab Mary’s hand.

“Thanks, Mom,” she says, as Mary lifts their intertwined fingers and kisses them. 

There’s still the matter of the empty plate next to Sam, though. He clears his throat. “I’m going to check on Castiel. Jo, I’m sorry.”

She nods at him, but he doesn’t miss the look of venom that briefly flashes across her face. Sam stops, before he leaves the room, and kisses her forehead. “I love you, Jo.”

“I know, Sam,” she says, squeezing his arm. “It’s okay.”

It’s really not, but Sam doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to think it either; there’d been too many fights, stretched over too many years and too many schools. Dean and Sam had six and two years on Jo, respectively; it had never stopped either of them from kicking the ass of anyone who’d ever sneered at the ‘Harvelle’ or made a crack about ‘Little Orphan Annie.’ Jo had usually been more pissed that she hadn’t been left to deal her own blows, because she has a Winchester’s thick skin and stubborn head, but that didn’t make it right. The fact that it was coming from Castiel, of all people, was the worst part.

He finds Castiel sitting on the end of his bed, looking down at his interlaced fingers. He doesn’t look up when Sam approaches.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing out of Castiel’s mouth. Sam isn’t sure if that means that he’s actually sorry, or that he knows it’s the appropriate thing to say right now.

“I’m really not the person you need to apologize to, Cas,” he says gently. “Jo is pretty upset.”

“I understand,” Castiel says, still speaking to his fingers. “I’ll speak to her now, unless you think it would be better to wait?”

Sam hesitates. “I think you should give it a day. She might be more willing to listen tomorrow morning.”

Castiel nods. “Alright.”

“Hey,” Sam says, waiting until Castiel looks at him before continuing. “You couldn’t have known it was such a sensitive topic. I should have said something before you got here.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Castiel says. “It was my lack of tact that caused this, not you. I should have thought about how Joanna would feel, instead of assuming that I knew better.”

“That’s true,” Sam agrees. “Just give her a little time, okay? Actually, give everybody a little time. These things never go off perfectly.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Castiel says glumly. “This is the first time I’ve ever been introduced to someone’s family.”

“What, seriously?” Sam asks, incredulously. “Actually, I guess that explains a lot.”

“I’ll do better,” Castiel promises. “I know you were reluctant to bring me here for Christmas—”

“That’s not it, Cas—”

“You have my word, I won’t do anything else to upset your family. I want to make a good impression, Sam.”

Too late for that, Sam thinks, before realizing how unfair that is. It’s only been, what, four hours? Sure, Castiel made a pretty massive error in judgment, but these things happen. It’s all part of the process in getting to know another person and bring them into your family.

He thinks that’s what Oprah would say about the situation, anyway.

“Okay. Are you still hungry, do you want me to bring you up some food?”

“No, I’m fine. Really,” Castiel says, off Sam’s look. “Go back down to your family. I’m going to go to sleep.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Sam, I’m sure.” Castiel leans over and kisses Sam, just a brief brush of their lips. “I will see you in the morning.”

“Okay,” Sam says, even though there’s a part of him that wants to just kick off his shoes, crawl into bed with Cas, and pretend this whole day never happened. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Everyone is making polite chatter when Sam gets back downstairs. Adam and Meredith are the only ones who meet his eyes as he sits back down.

“Cas alright?” Dean asks, not looking up from his beer.

“Yeah. He feels like shit about what he said, though.”

“He should,” John mutters darkly. 

Sam shoots his father a dirty look. “Jo, he wants to apologize to you. I told him tomorrow would be better.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jo says, in her most flippant tone, concentrating instead on slicing through her steak so hard that the knife scrapes the ceramic. Everyone winces.

“I think that was for the best. Sam, I’m sure he’s a nice guy, but he’s—”

“He doesn’t fit in,” John interrupts. “Sorry to cut you off, honey, but you’re right. Sam, anyone who doesn’t understand that Jo is a part of this family isn’t going to work in this house. Okay? You need to straighten him out.”

“He gets it, Dad, okay?” Sam snaps. “Castiel grew up with a lot of foster siblings and they weren’t a family the way we were. Jo, I’m really sorry that he said what he said, but he just didn’t get it. And since when do you get to decide who ‘works in this house’ or doesn’t?” he says, turning back to his father.

“Since this is my goddamned house and my family, Sam, that’s since when! And if you don’t like—”

“John, stop,” Mary orders. “Sam, calm down. I understand that this has been a stressful night, but everyone needs to take a step back before they say something they regret.”

“Trust me, I’m not going to—”

“I know exactly what—” 

“Can it, both of you!” Dean shouts. From the way their dad’s mouth snaps shuts, Sam can tell he’s been shocked into silence by Dean raising his voice. Their whole lives, Sam’s never heard his brother yell at their dad. He’s never even heard Dean say anything disrespectful to or about their father. Sam wonders if the world is coming to an end and, if so, why he wasn’t informed about it.

Even their mom and Jo are staring as Dean clears his throat. “Look, I know it’s been a shitty night. Can we please all just eat this dinner that Mom made and then everyone can go be mad in their own rooms.”

“Hear, hear,” Adam calls out. “The food is great, Mary.”

“Thank you,” she says stiffly. “Come on, everyone, let’s finish up. I think we’ve been sitting here long enough.”

Sam stays downstairs just long enough to shovel some more food in his mouth, clear his plate, and give his mom a kiss. “Thanks, Mom. I’m going to head up.”

Her mouth turns down in a frown. “Sam, are you sure?” She turns the faucet off so that she can turn around and look at him. “Honey, I know it’s not easy to come home and deal with all of this. Everyone,” she amends, seeing Sam’s expression. “But this is still your home, you shouldn’t feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” Sam lies, which probably makes him a terrible person. “I’m just tired, Mom, and tomorrow’s a big day.”

Mary gives him a searching look before sighing and kissing his cheek. “Alright, sweetie. Get some rest.”

The first thing Sam does when he gets upstairs is check on Castiel. He looks asleep, from the doorway, but even if he’s faking it, Sam isn’t going to bother him. He heads off to his bedroom, deciding to try and get some work done while the adrenaline from dinner is still in his system.

There’s a knock on his door about an hour later. If the overhead light weren’t on, Sam would probably just pretend to be asleep, but it’s too late for that now. “Come in,” he calls out, hoping that it’s not his father. He doesn’t have anything to say that isn’t rude or dismissive, and he’d rather not be thrown out of the house five days before Christmas. 

Instead, Dean pops his head through the door. “Can I come in?” he asks, which is actually, if Sam remembers correctly, the first time in their lives that Dean’s asked permission before just barging in. He’d actually made a game out of it in high school: ‘How many times can I catch Sam jerking off before he learns to lock his door?’ One of the perks of having an absolutely shameless older brother. 

“Yeah,” Sam says, surprised at the intrusion. He pushes his laptop to the side as Dean walks in. “Please tell me this isn’t another lecture about how I need to show Dad some respect, he’s our father, et cetera.”

Dean snorts. “You’re such a nerd, you know that?”

“Yeah, Dean. You’ve only told me a thousand times. What do you want?”

Dean shrugs, grabbing Sam’s desk chair and straddling it backwards. Ever the rebel. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“How I’m doing? Did Mom put you up to this?”

“No, man. Seriously,” he insists, as Sam makes a face. “Look. I get it. You don’t want to be back here, you feel bad about what happened with your boyfriend, today really sucked ass.” He pauses while Sam snorts. “But it’s Christmas, dude. I know you’re not feeling the holiday spirit, but can you please just try, for the next couple of days?”

“If Dad thinks—”

“If I get Dad to back off?” Dean counters. At Sam’s disbelieving look, he holds up his hands. “I’m not asking you to make any promises. But if Dad calms down with his ‘king of the castle’ routine, will you try, too? It’s not easy for him.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. How dare I have the nerve to come back and want some respect from my family when it comes to my life and my choices. You know—”

“Sam, I don’t even want to hear it,” Dean says, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You got your own issues with Dad, that’s fine. This is about the whole family. Nobody wants this to be the year the Grinch stole Christmas. Adam and Meredith didn’t have to come, either, but they did, and their holiday shouldn’t be ruined because we’re all a bunch of assholes.”

Dean has a point. As mad as Sam is at his dad—as mad as he’s sure to get, before the end of the week—this holiday isn’t about him. It’s about everyone enjoying themselves. This might be his only chance to see his mom and Jo for a good half a year and he doesn’t want to waste that.

“Alright. I’m not promising anything—if Dad acts like a dick to Cas, I’m going to say something,” Sam warns. “But I’ll try to be a little nicer.”

“Okay,” Dean says. “Can’t ask for more than that. You still have shopping to do?” 

“Yeah,” Sam admits. “I think Cas got his stuff already, but I need to make a few milk runs.”

Dean nods. “I’m heading to the mall tomorrow, you should come with.”

“Sure,” Sam says, a little surprised by the invitation. Things will probably go a lot faster though with Dean, impatient as ever, urging Sam to hurry the hell up. 

“Alright. Night, Sam,” Dean says, heading for the door. “Be up early, I’m not waiting for your slow ass.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam calls out. “See you in the morning.”

#####  _Castiel_

When Castiel wakes, it’s with a feeling of heavy dread in his chest. For a moment, he can’t understand why; he slept soundly, he feels well-rested, and there’s no reason for his sense of imminent danger. It takes him a minute of contemplation before the events of the previous day rush back into his mind. His face heats up with the memories.

His comments about Joanna had been appallingly rude, not to mention extremely inappropriate at a family gathering. Castiel may not be the most well-versed in social interactions, but even he knows better than that. He feels ashamed, remembering the look on Jo’s face after he’d spoken so callously the night before. If Castiel had been looking for a surefire way to make the Winchesters hate him, he could have picked no easier route.

Rolling over, Castiel buries his face in his lumpy pillow. He wonders how socially unacceptable it would be to sneak out of the window with his suitcase and hitch a ride back to the airport. Although he’s sure that Mr. Winchester would be pleased with his choice, Sam would undoubtedly be upset. Probably more so with the need to answer awkward questions about Castiel’s departure than with his leaving.

His thoughts are interrupted by a fist hammering on the bedroom door. “Rise and shine, sunshine!” Dean calls out. “Breakfast in ten, we got a big day ahead of us.”

Castiel doesn’t answer. Maybe if Dean thinks he’s asleep, he’ll be able to hide in this room for the next several hours and avoid all human interaction.

“Cas, you up?”

No such luck, apparently.

“Yes, Dean,” he replies. “I am awake, I heard you.”

There’s a moment where Castiel wonders why Dean hasn’t just left and returned downstairs, before Dean says, quietly, “Mind if I come in?”

Castiel looks around at the tangled sheets and his clothes strewn everywhere. He can’t even imagine how unkempt he must look. “No, it’s fine,” he calls out.

Dean enters slowly, like he’s hesitating with every step. He gives Castiel an embarrassed grin. “Sorry to bust in on you like this.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel says, trying not to feel self-conscious about his ratty pajamas and probable bed-head. “Is everything alright?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you real quick. Sam and I are hitting the mall today; we always leave our Christmas shopping to the last minute. Adam and Mer are probably going to come too, just to get out of the house. I was wondering,” he pauses in his rambling for a second, looking up at Castiel, “if you wanted to come with us? Sam said you’re all set, but I thought it might be better than hanging out here all day.” 

When Castiel remains silent, Dean adds, “Or you could just hole up in Barnes and Noble or something. I just figured you’d have more fun out of the house.”

“Thank you for the offer, Dean,” Castiel says slowly, “but I wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with your family. I know it’s been a long time since you’ve seen Sam.”

“Yeah,” Dean begins, sitting down on the bed a few feet from Cas, “that’s true, but I mean, if we’re doing family bonding, you might as well come along, right? Like it or not, you’re a part of the Winchester family this Christmas.”

Castiel’s heart clenches painfully in his chest at Dean’s words—it’s been a long time since he felt included in a family larger than the two-person one he’s carved out with Sarah—and he can’t help but admit that the declaration brings a feeling of warmth. 

“If you’re sure,” he says slowly, wanting to give Dean a chance to rescind.

Dean shrugs. “Yeah. Meredith is going, too, you’re not going to be the only significant other there.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Castiel asks, without thinking, and is promptly horrified a second later. What is wrong with him? Why can’t he stop making inappropriate comments and being so strange around people he’s trying to impress? If he were alone, Castiel would probably smack himself in frustration.

Thankfully, Dean just laughs. “No. Guess I’ll just have to be the fifth wheel today.” He stands up abruptly. “I’ll let you get ready. Don’t forget, ten minutes for breakfast or there won’t be anything left for you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but Sam’s a goddamn Hoover.”

It startles a laugh out of Castiel. “I had noticed,” he says. “I’ll be downstairs, Dean, thank you.”

When reaches the kitchen, seven minutes later, Castiel feels a frisson of nerves in his chest. After the way things had ended last night, he’s not very eager to face Sam’s family again. He hopes that they’ll give him a second chance; Sam doesn’t see his family very often, but Castiel can’t imagine that he’d be happy dating someone that all the Winchesters hate. 

He steels his nerves and heads into the kitchen where, once again, the entire family is waiting. John is at the stove, scrambling eggs in a giant skillet while Mary watches him fondly, laughing at his attempts. Jo and Meredith are standing on opposite sides of the island, arguing about something, while Sam and Dean are clustered at one end of the kitchen table, poring over a map. Adam is manning the coffee machine and staring at it in consternation.

Seven pairs of eyes look up as Castiel enters. He catalogues them quickly: Jo and John still look angry, while compassion is on the faces of Mary, Adam, and Meredith. Sam and Dean are the only two who look happy to see him.

“Morning,” Sam says, standing up and greeting Castiel with a kiss. He freezes, aware of everyone’s eyes on them, but Sam doesn’t let up and Castiel can’t do anything but relax into the embrace. When they break apart, Sam leans back in to ask, quietly, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies, matching Sam’s volume. “Are you?”

Sam huffs out a laugh against Castiel’s lips. “I’m surviving. Dean wanted to wake you up and make sure everything was alright. He’s kind of a worrywart.”

“That was very kind of him,” Castiel says, pulling away from Sam so that he can see the rest of the Winchesters. “Good morning. I hope everyone slept well.”

“Between John’s snoring and Adam’s thrashing, I’m surprised I got any shut-eye,” Meredith volunteers, earning her twin glares from the two men in question.

“I do not snore,” John protests.

Meredith snorts. “If I can hear you from a totally different floor, then you totally do. Help me out, here, Mary: you’re the voice of reason.”

Mary just smiles and pats her husband’s hand. “Honey, I didn’t hear anything. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, though,” she adds, cutting off John’s triumphant noise. “Sorry, but that’s just how it works.”

Meredith laughs. “Don’t worry, I like you anyway, John.”

“Hmmph,” John says, returning to the skillet. Castiel doesn’t miss the way he’s summarily ignored.

“Jo,” Castiel says, just as she’s raising her coffee cup to her lips. “I’d like to speak with you, please.”

Jo raises an eyebrow and continues sipping her coffee for a long minute. “Go ahead,” she says, when she finally lowers the mug.

Everyone immediately makes themselves busy doing something else. 

“I was hoping we could speak somewhere more private?” 

Jo’s smile says she isn’t going to make this easy on him. “I think right here is fine.”

Dean shoots his sister a dirty look, but she either doesn’t see it or chooses to ignore it. Castiel draws in a deep breath, pulls up his shoulders, and pretends this is just another meeting at work, just a conversation with a semi-stranger, not someone dear to the man he loves.

“I want to apologize for what I said to you last night. It was completely out of line, not to mention hurtful and wrong,” Castiel begins. Jo keeps staring without a word, so he continues. “I should not have presumed that my own relationship with my—siblings has any bearing on your own.”

“And?” Jo says, after an interminable minute of her steely-eyed glare.

“And I hope that you will forgive me for my comments,” he finishes, and now that he’s reached the end of his speech, he’s starting to flush. “I know how very special you are to Sam and I would hate to think—”

“That his sister hates your guts? Yeah, I can see where that would suck.”

Castiel feels himself blanch. If Jo forces Sam to choose, Castiel knows that he would have no hope.

“Jo,” Sam says, in a low voice, as though his entire family isn’t listening to every word. “Come on.”

Jo narrows her eyes at Sam, too, but after they engage in a few minutes of intense staring (long enough for the sweat to prickle on the back of Castiel’s neck), Jo breaks eye contact to look back at Castiel.

“It’s fine,” she says, in a voice that lets him know it’s very far from fine. “Don’t worry about it.”

Castiel swallows hard. “Thank you, Jo. I appreciate your understanding.”

She turns back to her newspaper without another word; Castiel can immediately see all the similarities between Jo and her father.

“Alright,” Dean says loudly, probably in an attempt to break the palpable tension in the kitchen. “Sam and I mapped out a route for the mall, we’re going to be in and out as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, right,” Adam says, from the corner where he and Meredith are wrestling over the coffee maker. “You say that every time. And every time, we end up there until closing and you still don’t have everything you need.”

“That is not gonna happen this year,” Dean says firmly, pointing a finger at Adam. “In and out. Now finish messing around with that thing, we need to eat and get going.”

“What stores are you planning to stop at?” Castiel asks, curious. Sam was correct, he’d finished all his Christmas shopping the week before, but he was still excited at the prospect of walking around hand-in-hand with Sam, looking at the Christmas decorations and getting into the holiday spirit.

Sam and Dean share a look. “That’s privileged information that can’t be discussed in front of civilians,” Dean says, nodding unsubtly at his parents. “But you’ll see when we get there, it’s about an hour away. Don’t worry,” he adds, mistaking the look on Castiel’s face for skepticism, “you’re going to have a great time.”

Castiel is not having a great time.

Yes, the Country Club Plaza is very nicely decorated for the holidays, with mistletoe strung around the storefronts and ornament-laden Christmas trees every few feet. There’s Christmas music playing over the mall’s speaker (Castiel has heard no fewer than three different renditions of “White Christmas” so far) and the smell of warm cookies has followed their group ever since they entered the mall. By all rights, Castiel should be enjoying himself and this day out with his boyfriend, especially since Sam has been so overloaded with work in the last few weeks. 

Instead, he’s thirsty, he needs to use the restroom, and he’s rapidly developing a blister on one foot. Sam has spent most of the trip—whenever he’s not actively buying something in a store—fiddling with his iPhone and fielding several calls from his office. Every time Castiel’s tried to hold his hand, they’ve been interrupted by something else. 

Adam and Meredith have spent most of the shopping trip with their heads together, laughing over something or another that no one else seems to get. Castiel has tried to keep his jealous glances to a minimum, but he knows he’s doing a poor job of concealing his emotions. Dean has shot him several concerned looks throughout the day; so far, he hasn’t said anything yet, for which Castiel is grateful. All in all, Castiel is looking forward to the end of their trip, even if it does mean returning to the Winchester home and dealing with their disapproval. 

Dean and Sam consult their list for what seems the hundredth time. “Alright, guys,” Dean says. “Last stop for the day. Told you it wouldn’t be that bad,” he tells Adam, smugly.

“Yeah, a six hour shopping trip. Not bad at all,” Adam replies, rolling his eyes at Meredith, who only smiles. 

“It could have been a lot worse,” Sam says with a laugh. “You weren’t here the year Dean and I left all our shopping until the last minute. We snuck out of the house and ran around here on Christmas Eve, throwing gifts at each other and buying everyone the first thing that we saw.”

“Dad got one of those coffee-cup organizer things for the car,” Dean says, grinning. “He was so pissed, he made me and Sam get up early the next day and go with him to return it.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve matured since then,” Adam says dryly. “What’s the last stop?”

Sam and Dean exchange a look. “Basically, we need to get gifts for each other,” Sam admits. “So it’s time to split up.”

“Is this the part where Adam and I have to pick which brother we like more?” Meredith asks. “Because that did not go over well when it came to football.”

“No,” Sam says, “you guys are included in this, you can’t come with.”

“Sweet. I mean, what a shame,” Adam tells his brothers, wincing with fake pain when Meredith punches his arm. “We’re going to go hang out in Starbucks, call me when you two are done.”

“Castiel, do you want to go with them?” Sam asks, even as Adam and Meredith are walking away. “I mean, unless you want to browse on your own. But I need some time—alone.”

“What my brother means,” Dean says, slinging an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, “is that he procrastinated on your gift, too. Come on, you can come with me. I trust you not to tell everyone what they’re getting.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Castiel replies, even as Dean leads him away from Sam. “What store are we going to?”

“Barnes and Noble, because my brothers are geeks. I took care of Mer’s present a while ago—one of those TV infomercial things, but she’ll love it. Once I finish with the moose and the bloodhound, I’ll be all set. What about you?” Dean asks.

Castiel is confused. “I thought Sam told you? I took care of my gifts before we arrived.”

“No, I got that. I meant, what do you want for Christmas?”

Castiel feels himself blushing. “Nothing. You don’t need to worry about a present for me.”

“Oh, I’m not worried. Call me curious. Come on, you can tell me,” Dean says, an earnest smile on his face. “Everybody wants something.”

When Castiel remains silent, Dean elbows him lightly in the ribs. “I’m a master interrogator, you know. I’m going to get it out of you sooner or later, whether it takes alcohol or thumb screws.”

“Growing up,” Castiel begins, and Dean drops his arm so that he can look at Castiel more easily, “my family didn’t celebrate Christmas the way most people do. My parents are very religious; to them, the point of the holiday is meditation on the life of the Lord.” Dean looks interested, but Castiel is mildly embarrassed, knowing that their opinion is an unpopular one to most people. “So we didn’t receive gifts.”

There’s a moment where Castiel continues to walk, even while Dean is at a standstill next to him, before the absence of someone by his side makes him stop. Turning around, he finds Dean staring at him with a look of shock on his face.

“Are you trying to tell me that you’ve never gotten a Christmas present in your life?” Dean sounds horrified by the prospect. 

Castiel frowns. “Of course not. After I left home to attend college, I began to celebrate the holidays regularly. Your brother and I exchanged gifts last year, as well; I’m no stranger to the practice.”

Dean looks relieved. “Okay. I was about to drag you through the toy store to help you relive your misspent youth, but I guess that’s not necessary.”

Castiel has to smile at that, because Sam had had a very similar reaction when he’d learned the details of Castiel’s upbringing. “I didn’t tell you this to shock or appall you. I only wanted to explain that, to me, presents are the least essential element of Christmas. I could easily do without them.”

“Right,” Dean says slowly, like he’s thinking it over in his head. “But I didn’t ask you about presents; I asked what you wanted for Christmas. Doesn’t have to be a gift.”

For a second, Castiel is tempted to say something like ‘peace on earth,’ but he knows that would be facetious, and rude besides. He considers saying ‘nothing’ and keeping quiet, but in the face of Dean’s smiles and his friendships, Castiel is moved to speak.

“If I had a choice,” he begins, while Dean turns expectant eyes on him, “I would want your family to like me by the end of our visit. Not just like me as a person,” Castiel says quickly, in response to the look on Dean’s face, “but to approve of my relationship with Sam.”

Dean smiles again, but he looks less sincere when he says, “You already have that. I mean, they wouldn’t have insisted that Sam come home for Christmas if they didn’t.”

“I don’t mean the kind of simple support that’s implied by a lack of opposition to the contrary. I may be bold in saying this, but I’d like to be a part of your brother’s future. With the way your family feels about me now, that doesn’t seem possible.”

“It’s not so bad,” Dean says, leading Castiel into Barnes and Noble. “I know you had a rocky start yesterday, but everybody has screw ups. The first time Adam brought Meredith home, Dad made some dumb comment about Jewish people before he realized. I thought Adam was going to disown him over that, but it worked out.”

“But it’s not as though Meredith said something insulting about your father or even you; if that had been the case, she might not have felt comfortable ever coming back to your home.”

“Well, I can tell you already that if you never came back to Lawrence, my mom, Adam, and Meredith would all be pissed. Not to mention me,” Dean says, winking at Castiel as he rifles through a bookshelf. “And Dad and Jo might not cry over it, but once they saw how unhappy Sam would be without you, they’d come around.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” Castiel protests.

“Who’s lived with them for thirty years, me or you?” Dean counters, and Castiel has to concede the point. “I know they can be pushy and overbearing, but all everybody wants is what’s best for Sam. You just have to give them some time.”

“I wish I could believe that,” Castiel says. “After the things I said last night, Jo would be perfectly justified in never speaking to me again.”

Dean winces. “That was pretty harsh.”

“It was never my intent—”

Dean holds up a hand, cutting him off. “Believe me, dude, I know. I’d tell you that Jo will warm up to you eventually, but it would probably be a lie. If it makes you feel any better,” he says, correctly interpreting the look on Castiel’s face as one of ‘utter despair,’ “she hated Meredith when they first met.”

Castiel can’t imagine the two women, as friendly as they’ve been the last two days, not getting along. “Really?”

“Really. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, because it’s top-secret, but Jo was such a bitch whenever Adam and Mer would visit. I’m talking at least six months of the cold shoulder, no invitations anywhere, spending as much time with Adam as possible.”

Even though Castiel feels a vague sense of guilt about gossiping about people who may one day be his in-laws, he can’t stop himself from leaning in conspiratorially. “So what happened?”

Dean snickers. “They got into a huge fight and Mer beat the crap out of Jo. It was awesome.”

“They settled their differences through physical violence?” Castiel is immediately disappointed that this isn’t a method he can use to solve his own problems with Jo.

“Yeah. Jo didn’t respect Meredith, because she thought Mer wouldn’t stand up for herself. Jo would probably still be walking all over here if Meredith hadn’t gotten pissed one day and just hauled off. She’s small, but she takes kickboxing,” Dean explains. “Not that I’m telling you to hit my sister—because I’d have to kill you if you did—but you need to stand up for yourself and demand respect. If you don’t, she and my dad are just going to keep pushing you around. I speak from experience,” he adds, when Castiel remains silent.

Castiel sits on one of the oversized armchairs in the café area while Dean walks around, grabbing armfuls of books off the shelves. He thinks about what Dean said. Acting aggressive and asserting himself doesn’t come naturally to Castiel; Sam always describes him as ‘low-key’ and ‘behind the scenes,’ but he can’t deny that Dean makes a compelling argument. How can he ever be a member of the Winchester family if the others don’t respect him? How can he expect Sam to be in a happy relationship with him if the Winchesters don’t see him as worthy of their son?

By the time Dean has finished paying for his purchases and grabbed two take-out coffees for them, Castiel has decided. For the rest of the vacation, he’ll do his best to be straight-forward, candid, and deserving of respect from his hosts, and he’ll do his utmost to treat them the same way in return. By the time he and Sam return to California, Castiel intends to have won over the entire Winchester family.

Castiel is so glad to have come up with a solid plan that he spends the whole car ride home beaming. Sam keeps shooting him concerned looks, and then turning to stare at Dean as though he suspects that illicit drugs were involved. Castiel squeezes Sam’s hand in reply and just continues smile. As terribly as his day had started, he’s actually looking forward to returning home and seeing Sam’s parents. 

His optimism is extremely short-lived, however, because when the five of them return home, it’s to a household where everyone is fighting. Jo is angry at John, Mary is at her wit’s end with Jo, and John and Mary are currently not speaking to each other, although Mary frequently looks up from the book she’s reading and stares at John, her eyes narrowed, until he can feel the heat of her gaze. 

Because his parents never divorced, although their marriage had been over by his fifth birthday, Castiel feels oddly at home in a household where everyone is upset and yelling obscenities at each other from different rooms. He can’t say that he enjoys the feeling of being in a warzone, but it’s familiar enough that it doesn’t phase him. He would have assumed that the same held true for Sam and Dean; having grown up in a household with four children, where everyone seems opinionated and stubborn, Castiel would have imagined that such arguing would be commonplace. 

However, Castiel would have been wrong, because Sam and Dean look shocked by their parents fighting. Meredith and Adam had quickly escaped to Adam’s room, the minute they’d walked through the door and felt the palpable tension. Sam had looked eager to do the same, but Mary had insisted that the three sit down and tell her about their shopping trip, even while John and Jo yelled at each other in the kitchen, John’s voice rising whenever Jo said something particularly provocative. 

“It was fine, Mom,” Dean says, shooting Sam a freaked-look as Jo’s raised voice carried all the way through the closed door. Castiel couldn’t figure out what had triggered the fight or what Joanna was so upset about; Sam looked equally mystified, although Dean seemed to have an idea, if his pained expression was any indication. “I think maybe we should head on up—”

“Nonsense,” Mary says firmly. “Your father and Jo just have some issues to work through. Besides, it’s not as though you wouldn’t be able to hear it from the second floor.”

Mary is probably right about that, Castiel reflects, and her whole argument seems sound, but it doesn’t stop Sam and Dean from exchanging a glance.

“Mom, I don’t think Castiel needs to hear this—”

“It’s alright,” Castiel says, interrupting Sam. “Arguments such as this were very common in my house growing up, I’m not affected by it. Your mother is right; occasionally, people need to yell in order to resolve their issues.”

It’s not exactly what Mary had said, but she smiles at Castiel regardless, before turning back to her book. “Isn’t there a football game on for you boys to watch? We’ve got plenty of time before dinner.”

Dean turns the television on and turns the channel to ESPN. Sam leans closer to Castiel, using the noise from the television as cover. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Sam,” Castiel replies. “I meant what I said, this is a very commonplace occurrence.”

“I know but—” Sam furtively sneaks a glance at his mother, who appears engaged in her novel despite the noise level, before moving closer so that his mouth is right next to Castiel’s ear. “They never fight like this around the holidays, you know? Mom and Dad always wanted things to be perfect for the kids, since Adam grew up with his mom and Jo’s parents died in December. So no matter what was going on in their lives, they always put things to the side at Christmas time. We all do; I can’t even remember the last time a real fight broke out over the holidays. It’s so weird.”

Dean is frowning at them in consternation and Castiel imagines that he’s thinking along similar lines. Put in context, fighting amongst the Winchesters at Christmas time does seem to herald some kind of bad news; Castiel isn’t eager to learn what else could go wrong during his trip here. 

“It’s alright, Sam,” Castiel reassures him. “We’ll figure out what it is and get everyone in a good mood again for the holidays. I promise.”

Sam pulls away far enough to smile at Castiel. “Thanks.”

The fight in the kitchen abruptly ends when John pushes the door open, red-faced and fuming. He stops, takes in the sight of the four people sitting in the living room and looking anyplace but at him, and sighs. “I guess you all heard that.”

“Dad, what’s going on? Is Jo okay?” Sam asks.

“She’s fine,” John says, coming into the room and sitting on the recliner, the furthest chair from Mary’s small loveseat. Castiel watches as she flicks through the pages of her book, not looking up. “Just a little disagreement.”

“A little—” Sam begins, incredulously, before Dean cuts him off abruptly.

“Dad, whatever’s going on, don’t you think you should cut her some slack? It’s not the best month—”

“Dean, don’t tell me how to be a parent,” John says, talking right over his son’s words. “I know how hard December is for Jo, this isn’t about that. Don’t ask,” he says, holding up a hand as Dean starts trying to speak again. “It’s over with now, you don’t need to worry about it.”

Castiel looks at Dean, fascinated by the sight of him visibly restraining himself from speaking back to his father. It looks like a struggle and it surprises Castiel, who had assumed Dean’s outspokenness extended to all areas of his life.

Sam, on the other hand, feels no such compunction. “Don’t worry about it?” he echoes John, a look of disbelief on his face. “Dad. We spent twenty years making sure that every Christmas is a no-fight zone here and you’re just throwing that out the window?”

“I said leave it alone, Sam,” John says, the warning in his voice clear. “It wasn’t a fight, Jo is fine. And it doesn’t change anything,” he adds, cutting off Sam as he tries to speak. “This house is going to be drama- and fight-free for the rest of this week. Got it?”

Dean mumbles an agreement and, when Sam looks poised to begin arguing again, Castiel squeezes his hand lightly. Sam looks down, then back up, nodding his head tightly at his father.

“Good. Now how was the mall? Did you boys get everything you needed? I don’t want this to be another year when you two try and sneak out on Christmas Eve.”

“You knew about that?” Dean asks, sounding shocked. From the look on Sam’s face, he too believed that their escape from the house had been missed.

John chuckles. “Do you think we were born yesterday? Your mother and I know everything that goes on in the house. Don’t we, honey?” he asks Mary.

Mary just smiles thinly and nods, keeping her eyes on the book in front of her. John looks momentarily put-out by her lack of response, but he schools his features quickly to hide his disappointment. It’s done so quickly that Castiel thinks he’s the only one who noticed.

“Dad, when you say ‘everything’—” Dean begins, looking worried as John laughs. 

“Dean, I know you don’t want me to start going into specifics in front of guests.”

Dean holds up his hands quickly in a gesture of surrender. “Forget it. I don’t even want to know. You could have warned a guy, you know.”

“Where would the fun have been in that?” Mary asks, still looking down.  
“Mom!” Dean sounds scandalized. “Please, stop.”

Everyone snickers at that, except Castiel, who doesn’t want to add to Dean’s embarrassment, especially in front of his family.

“Yeah, laugh it up, Sammy,” Dean says, shooting a dirty look at his brother. “Want me to tell them about the time you—”

“No!” Sam all but shouts, cutting off his brother and looking horrified at whatever he thinks Dean was going to say. “Absolutely not.”

Dean grins. “That’s what I thought.” 

The five of them settle into a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the words of the sportscaster. John keeps looking at Mary, the expression on his face suggesting that he wants nothing more than for her to look up at him. Mary appears entirely focused on her book, although from her furrowed brow, Castiel guesses that it’s mostly a matter of appearance. Whatever happened before they returned home, Mary is clearly not planning on discussing it front of others. Castiel wonders if he should go upstairs; perhaps removing himself from the room would allow Mary to speak freely? But when he thinks about Sam’s insistence that the holidays remain a neutral time, and how Mary has been the only member of the family to truly stick to that rule, Castiel reasons that, even in his absence, this fight likely won’t be resolved. 

Dinner is tense from the onset. Castiel feels torn between his decision at the mall to try and earn the respect of Sam’s family and his certainty that he must, at all costs, avoid a repeat of the previous night’s events. He’s tempted to just keep silent throughout the meal, but he has a feeling that that too would be poorly received. Sticking to safe conversation, like complimenting the food and discussing the weather, seems his most prudent choice. Castiel is fairly certain that all the Winchesters are wondering how Sam ended up with someone so boring, but that’s probably better than driving him from their home with flaming pitchforks. 

“What time are Lisa and Ben coming tomorrow?” Adam asks, interrupting another round of pointless small talk. Castiel doesn’t recognize the names, but he’s certain that Sam doesn’t have more siblings that he’s unaware of.

“Late tomorrow night, maybe Christmas morning. Lisa’s taking him see his grandparents first, they’re a few hours out of here. I told her I’d come pick them up, but she’d rather drive.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel interrupts, praying while he does that this topic isn’t taboo, “but who are Lisa and Ben?”

Dean looks over at Castiel. “Lisa is my ex-girlfriend and Ben is her son. They come over every year and spend part of Christmas with us.”

Castiel thinks very carefully before responding. “It’s nice that you can spend the holidays with people who are important to you,” he offers.

Dean’s smile tells him that, shockingly, he hasn’t said the wrong thing. “Yeah, it is. I go see Ben as much as I can, but they live in Indiana, so it’s hard.”

“Ben’s the closest thing we have to a grandson,” John adds, “so we like having him over as much as possible.”

“Here we go,” Adam says under his breath, and Castiel is momentarily distracted, almost missing the way Sam goes tense at his side.

“I’m just saying,” John says, ignoring Jo’s eye roll, “it would be nice to have some grandkids around here. Your mother and I aren’t getting any younger. In a few years, we might not be able to chase kids around. I’d hate to miss that.”

“John—” Mary begins, looking unhappy with this turn of events, before Sam interrupts her.

“I guess you’re just going to have to be disappointed, Dad,” he says, and Castiel is alarmed at how angry he looks, clenching his fork like he wants to snap it in half. “Because, newsflash, I’m gay, and that isn’t going to change, no matter how much you wish I would just get married and have some kids.”

“I never said that,” John protests, even as Adam raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “But you guys are all adults now, I assumed there’d be a few babies around here.”

“Don’t look at us,” Meredith says, holding up one hand. “Adam and I have a good eight years before we’re done with school and residency and I am not having a baby in the middle of that madhouse.”

Castiel tries very hard not to look at Jo, but he (along with everyone else) seems to fail when she throws in, “I’m not even dating someone; Dad, I know you’re not telling me to have a kid out of wedlock just because you’re lonely.” 

Everyone laughs or snickers at that, except for John, who turns his focus on Dean. “If you and Lisa had just gotten married—”

“John, don’t,” Mary says, sounding firmer than before. 

Castiel and Mary are the only ones looking at Dean, which is why Castiel notices how absolutely still Dean has gone. He’s looking down at his plate and there’s a vein in his neck that’s pulsing hard, while John continues.

“She was a beautiful woman and you were crazy about her and Ben. I don’t understand how you could just let her go like that—”

“John!” Mary snaps. Everyone’s eyes fly to her, sounding angry enough that even Castiel is worried. “This is not a topic for the dinner table. Stop it.”

Even John looks shocked at his wife’s outburst and the way she’s staring at him now, with venom in her gaze. No one looks away from the tableau until the sound of Dean’s chair, scraping across the floor, breaks the spell. 

“Excuse me,” he says, looking at the walls instead of anyone’s face. “I just remembered—”

What he remembered, Dean doesn’t say, choosing to leave the kitchen without another word. The minute he’s passed outside the door, everyone jumps on John.

“John, what on Earth—”

“Dad, how could you—”

“You know, it’s none of your—”

“What the hell is your problem?” Sam’s voice carries over everyone else’s. Castiel had been so caught up in Dean’s reaction that he’s missed how Sam has transformed from mild-mannered yet upset, to absolutely enraged, but now, he can’t look away.

“You always do this! You think that just because you’re our father, you have some kind of say in how we live our lives, but you don’t.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Sam—”

“Or what?” Sam shoots back. “You going to try and throw me out of the house again? It didn’t work the first time, what makes you think now is going to be any better?”

The dining room is overcome with silence. The only sounds are Sam and John’s heavy breathing. 

“That’s your thing, right? If you don’t agree with somebody, then they don’t deserve to be in your home. So go ahead, tell me to take my boyfriend and get out. You didn’t want me to bring him here; as long as you don’t see us together, it’s not real, right? And you can pretend that in a few years I’ll find a girl and get married and have the life you always wanted for me instead. Do it,” Sam shouts and even as he’s standing up, facing his father, towering over everyone else, Castiel can feel his own face flaming, can feel every eye on him as they all sit there and judge him and Sam. It hurts to know that no matter how hard he tries, people will never accept him for who he is or how he loves.

It feels like his heart is breaking. 

Sam, next to him, is panting like he’s run a race. “Do it,” he repeats. “You’ve been waiting all week for this. Just say it.”

John doesn’t answer for long moments, sitting and staring straight at Sam. The dining room is still quiet. Castiel looks between their two faces, waiting for someone to break.

It’s Sam.

“Come on,” he says, finally looking over at his boyfriend and grabbing Castiel’s hand. “Let’s go.”

Castiel doesn’t know if Sam means for them to leave the dining room, the house, or the state of Kansas, but at the moment, he doesn’t much care. He reaches out and takes hold of Sam’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up and out of the room. He doesn’t look at anyone as they leave.

Sam’s plan is to head to their rental car. It feels too small to contain all of Sam’s anger and Castiel’s disappointment, but just being out of the house is enough of a relief that the pressure in Castiel’s chest finally begins to ease. Sam is in the driver’s seat, his eyes closed. He’s breathing hard through his nose and clutching Castiel’s hand tightly.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing Castiel says. It’s not exactly what he meant, not really what he thinks Sam needs to hear right now, but it’s the only thing his mind can conjure up as he sits, staring at the garage door. 

“It’s not your fault,” Sam says, his eyes still screwed shut. “All that stuff in there, it’s—it’s been building a long time. Since I was a teenager, actually. I’m sorry that you got caught in the middle of it.”

“As your boyfriend, I’m intimately involved in the situation, no matter how long it’s been an issue,” Castiel insists. “And you have no reason to apologize for sticking up for me and our relationship, Sam.” Castiel leans over and kisses his boyfriend on the cheek. “So thank you for doing that.”

Sam makes a hitching noise, like he’s holding back a laugh or maybe tears, and Castiel leans against his shoulder, bringing their raised hands up against his chest and holding them there. 

They sit in silence for long minutes before Castiel speaks up. “I think I should go home.”

“Castiel, no,” Sam protests, gently pushing Castiel off his body as he sits up and faces him. 

“Yes,” Castiel disagrees. “You said yourself that the holidays are important to your family and that you’ve never spent a Christmas apart. As difficult as things are with your father, I think that you’ll feel worse if you leave. However, things may be easier if I’m gone.”

“They won’t be,” Sam protest. “They’ll be worse if I don’t have you around. I need you on my six.”

Castiel just looks at Sam. “I don’t understand that reference, but I do get your meaning. Sam, can I be honest with you?”

“Of course,” Sam says, instantly.

“I don’t feel comfortable staying with your family,” Castiel says baldly. It may sound harsh, but he has to be truthful, for his own well-being. “As hopeful as I was that they would approve of our relationship once they got to know me, I see now that my belief was naïve. And as much as I would rather not be alone at Christmas, I can’t imagine myself staying here for another two days.”

Sam nods at him. “I get it, Castiel. I really do.” He smiles sadly. “I don’t want to be alone on Christmas, either. But if you don’t want to stay, I won’t ask you to. I know better than anybody that you need somebody to watch your back in this family.” He stops talking and squeezes Castiel’s hand and for a minute, they just look at each other. Castiel had hoped so badly that the Winchesters would like him. It doesn’t make a difference in their relationship, he knows; he and Sam live in California, Sam rarely returns to Kansas, and Castiel’s own family doesn’t know or like Sam, either. But Sam is close to his family, in a way that Castiel isn’t with his, and he had wanted, so much, to be effortlessly included in the fold. Sam has dealt with opposition his whole life and he thrives on it; it’s why he’s such an excellent lawyer. For once, though, Castiel had wanted things to be easy for Sam and for himself. Apparently, it isn’t to be.

Sam squeezes his hand again, but this time there’s an urgency there. “Wait a minute. Wait. What if you had someone here, to watch your back and to turn to whenever my family is being horrible?”

Castiel reflects. “I would be much happier, but Sam, this hypothetical is impossible.”

Sam grins. “What did you say your sister was doing for Christmas?”

It’s a good while later before Sam and Castiel return to the house. After a half an hour in the car, it had been so cold that they’d had to turn the heat on, and they’d stayed there until the gas gauge had dipped distressingly low. 

When they reach the foyer, Sam turns and stops Castiel. “I think you should stay out here while I tell them. First, because I want to make them feel bad, and I don’t want you to interrupt me and tell them everything’s okay. And second, because if I see my dad give you another look, I might just start throwing punches.”

Castiel nods. “I agree. But do not hit your father,” he says, “it’s contrary to all our plans. Besides, you don’t need to defend my honor like that.”

Sam smiles. “Yeah, I do. That’s what boyfriends are for.”

Castiel waits outside the door to the living room. As soon as Sam enters, someone turns the volume down on the television, allowing Castiel to hear the conversation quite clearly.

“Sam,” John begins.

“Don’t,” Sam says, the edge in his voice apparent even from the other room. “I came in here to tell you that Castiel and I talked and he told me that he’s planning to go back to California tomorrow morning.”

Castiel understand why Sam wanted him to stay outside. Although Sam isn’t technically lying, he’s phrasing his words very carefully and he was right, if Castiel were next to him right now, he would certainly be interjecting. 

“Oh no, Sam,” Mary says. “Honey, you can’t let him do that.”

“Well, he doesn’t feel comfortable staying in this house and I can’t say I blame him. If we didn’t have a rule about Christmas, I would already have driven us both to the airport. You know, he was really excited to come out here for the holidays and get to know everybody and you guys have been stepping on him left and right. And I know,” Sam says, cutting off a chorus of voices, “that he’s made some mistakes, too, but I’ve never seen you guys treat anyone’s significant other this badly, and that includes Ruby.”

“Ruby was a bitch,” Castiel can hear Dean say, and there’s a murmur of agreement.

“Regardless,” Sam says loudly, “Castiel was all set on going home; he’d already called the airlines for flights. But I managed to talk him out of it. Instead, his sister Sarah is going to come spend the holidays with us.”

“There’s another one?” Jo asks, her distaste clear. “Great.”

“Yes, and she’s giving up the chance to spend Christmas with her family in New York to fly out here. She’ll be here tomorrow. I know it’s a tall order, but can everyone just try and be decent for the next two days? I really don’t need everyone in Castiel’s family hating me.”

“Yeah,” Dean says firmly. Castiel can imagine the look on his face. “Everyone’s going to be on the best behavior from now until Christmas. Jo, don’t make that face. If you think I won’t lock you up in the shed to keep you nice, then you’re wrong.”

“Try me,” Jo says, and there’s the sound of scuffle, interrupted by John’s gruff voice. 

“Stop horsing around, you two are adults. Try and act like it.”

“Nice coming from you,” Jo shoots back, and it sounds like another fight is brewing until Sam clears his throat. 

“We’re going to bed. I’m leaving first thing in the morning to pick up Sarah and if I come home and find Castiel upset, or gone, I’m the next one out of here, Christmas or not.” Sam is using his ‘lawyer voice’ and it’s extremely effective: Castiel can hear the murmur of agreement from the rest of the family.

True to his word, Sam is up at 6 o’clock the next morning, pressing a soft kiss to Castiel’s lips before he heads off to the airport. “Hang out in here until I get back, okay? I’ll only be a couple of hours.”

Castiel hums in agreement, turning over again as soon as Sam’s left. Usually, six hours is plenty of sleep for him, but his dreams have been restless and uneasy since they arrived in Kansas. It won’t hurt to stay in bed a few more hours, maybe even until Sam returns with Sarah. That way, he’ll have his sister by his side before he has to deal with any more unpleasantness. 

Castiel only manages another hour of fitful sleep before he’s reduced to lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, and wishing Sam were here with him. Or, better yet, that they were both home in California, curled up in bed together and celebrating the holidays alone. Since wishful thinking will get him nowhere, Castiel allows himself only a few minutes of daydreaming before he rolls out of bed. At the very least, he can make some coffee so that he’ll be properly caffeinated when Sarah arrives. And if he can find no peace in the kitchen, he’ll just retreat to his bedroom and kill the time with his laptop. 

Mary is the only person in the kitchen when Castiel descends to the first floor. Sending up a prayer of thanks that he only has one Winchester to deal with this early in the morning, Castiel carefully schools his features in a polite smile.

“Good morning, Mary.”

Mary visibly starts. “Oh, Castiel, hello,” she says, swiftly gathering up the pile of papers in front of her. “I didn’t hear you come down,” she adds, unnecessarily, since her surprised had been obvious.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted you,” he says. “I only came down to get a cup of coffee.”

“I’ll fix you one,” Mary offers, rising from her seat and taking her papers with her. Castiel watches her drop them into an open drawer and then close it. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” he replies. Mary huffs out a laugh. 

“Exact opposite of Sam, huh? Dean always makes fun of him for putting tons of cream and sugar in there.’”

“Dean takes his coffee black?” 

Mary nods. “Just like his father. He tries to be such a tough guy in front of everyone, but I’m sure you’ve noticed how much of that is an act.”

Castiel considers before replying. “He certainly has many soft spots, especially when it comes to his family.”

Mary smiles. “Especially when it comes to his siblings. Dean’s always felt like it was job to take care of everybody. He loves the other kids like nobody’s business.”

“It’s very obvious how much he cares about them.”

“You think?” Mary asks, but it’s rhetorical, because a moment later, she adds, “I think that if you told Dean that, he’d be surprised.”

Castiel is confused. He’s only been in Lawrence two days, but he can already tell that, for Dean, family is one of the most important things in his life. At the mall, Dean had acted like a parent looking after his children, even though everyone in their group was well into adulthood. He does the same thing for Jo, Castiel has noticed. “I don’t understand.”

Mary returns to the table with a coffee mug in each hand. She passes over Castiel’s before taking a seat and pinning him with a steady gaze. “Pretend you’re Dean. You’re growing up with your parents and your younger brother, and in a few short years, your family expands. Suddenly you have another brother and a sister. They become as much a part of your family as anyone else and you’re glad. Then, as soon as everyone turns eighteen, they start to leave. Your brother moves to California to go to college and he hardly ever comes home. Your sister leaves for school, too, and when she finishes, she doesn’t come back to Kansas. Your other brother spends half his time in Wisconsin with his own mother, and when he has to make a choice, he chooses to make his home there. So you’re the only one who stays in Kansas. You’re the only one who stays a part of your family. How do you think you would feel?”

Castiel is taken back by Mary’s words. As naïve as it would sound, he had never considered that Sam running away to California could have hurt his family so much. The way Sam has always framed the story, his family was glad that he had left. Castiel had known it couldn’t be that simple, but he accepted Sam’s version of the truth because it made sense. Now, thinking about it from the other side—from John and Mary and Dean’s point of view—he sees how that sense of rejection ran both ways. 

“I would feel abandoned,” Castiel says slowly, because he knows the feeling.

Their talk is abruptly interrupted when their subject barrels through the kitchen door, still looking more than half asleep. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Cas,” Dean rasps out, heading straight for the coffee machine. His hair is sticking straight up in tufts and Castiel is struck by the urge to smooth it out.

“Hi, honey. You’re going to have to make a new pot, I took the last cup.”

Dean groans. “You’re killing me here, Mom. I had to stay up all night kicking Adam’s ass on the X-Box and there isn’t even any coffee left for me?”

“You know, we did offer to set up an IV solution and caffeine drip to help you deal with your addiction,” Mary says dryly. “If I recall, you declined.”

“Funny, Ma. Real funny.” The coffee percolating, he walks to the table and sits down. “Hey, Cas. How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” Castiel says, politely, since there’s no reason to let Dean and Mary know of his sleeping troubles. “Sam has already left for the airport.”

“Yeah, I head the Sasquatch go stomping past my door. I swear to god, he does it on purpose.”

“After all the pranks you’ve pulled on him, I think he’d be justified,” Mary says. “The Nair alone…”

Dean grins. “That one was pretty good, wasn’t it?”

“If by ‘good’ you mean ‘absolutely traumatizing,’ then yes, it was.”

Castiel looks back and forth between them. “I don’t think I want to know.”

Dean chuckles. “Probably not. Let’s just say that your boyfriend lost his title of ‘Goldilocks’ for a few weeks in junior year. I’m still surprised he didn’t try to kill me.”

“I think he got you back with the Impala trick, though,” Mary adds, and the look of indignation on Dean’s face makes Castiel laugh.

“What happened?”

“Dad was doing work on this ’67 Impala at the garage—the same car I have, but this one was powder blue. Sam stole the keys, brought it home, and had Jo hide my car the next street over. When I came home, he told me he’d had the Impala hand-painted as a present for me. I hit the roof,” Dean admits ruefully. “If Dad hadn’t held me back, I probably would have killed the kid before I even thought about it.”

“You car is one of your most prized possessions,” Castiel guesses.

Dean grins. “Hell yeah she is. I helped Dad fix her up myself, from top to bottom. I thought he was going to sell her when she was all done, but Mom convinced him to give her to me.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that!” Mary says, with fake protest.

“Yeah, yeah. You can argue all you want, but Dad already had a buyer lined up. I know you’re the only thing that could ever make him change his mind. 

Mary only smiles. “That car went to the person who deserved her the most, Dean, and we all know it.”

Dean ducks his head at his mother’s words, and Castiel can see a faint blush on the back of his neck. The gurgling of the coffee pot finally stops, so Castiel stands up and pulls a cup from the same cupboard Mary had opened earlier.

“You don’t have to do that, Cas, I got it,” Dean protests, trying to rise, but Mary lays a hand on his arm and stops him. Castiel sees the movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Your mother made mine this morning, let me pass on the favor,” Castiel says, filling the mug to the brim and setting it down in front of Dean. “Enjoy your caffeine.”

“So, Castiel. You have some time before Sam and your sister show up, what would you like to do today?” Mary asks. “I’m going to head into town for a while, would you like to come?”

Castiel thinks about saying yes. Mary has shown him more kindness this morning than anyone since he’s arrived, and the thought of driving to the center of town with her, helping to shop and do other errands for the house is appealing. Dean is watching Castiel over the top of his coffee cup, though, and before he can think about it further, he finds himself saying, “No, I think I’ll stay home. I have some work-related matters to deal with.”

“No way,” Dean disagrees. “It’s Christmas Eve day, you can’t do work. It’s totally against the spirit of the holiday.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Hang out and watch cheesy Christmas movies all day, culminating with “It’s a Wonderful Life” at eight,” Dean replies. “Maybe go for a walk or something later, it’s pretty nice outside.”

“I wouldn’t want to interfere,” Castiel demurs, although the thought of sitting on a couch all day and simply vegging out sounds like the perfect antidote to a stressful two days.

“Mi casa, su casa. Mom banished everybody else for the day, so we’re safe,” Dean says. “Come on, grab your coffee cup, let’s hit the den. Unless you want help shopping, Mom?” he asks, turning his attention back to his mother.

Mary shakes her head. “Go ahead, honey. We’re all going to have plenty to do when guests start showing up tonight, you should enjoy yourself while you still can.”

“Call me when you get back,” Dean insists. “Don’t try and bring all the groceries in by yourself, okay?”

“Deal,” Mary says. “Make sure Castiel enjoys himself.”

“I will,” Dean promises. 

Dean picks up his coffee cup and stands, staring at Castiel. A moment too late, Castiel realizes what Dean’s waiting for. He grabs his own mug and starts in the direction of the den, noticing the amused look on Mary’s face right before he passes through the door. 

The thought that she finds his social awkwardness endearing is a surprising one.

Once they reach the den, Dean thoughtlessly flops onto the sofa, patting the seat next to him when Castiel remains standing. “Come on, Cas. You can’t start to veg out until you’re good and comfortable.”

Castiel sits, with nowhere near the easy grace that Dean had displayed. He casts a dismayed glance at Dean’s feet, now resting on top of the coffee table in front of them.

“Put your feet up?”

“I’d rather not,” Castiel says, although he does tuck one foot underneath his other leg in an effort to get comfortable. It has the unintended effect of forcing his body to turn towards Dean’s, but the other man doesn’t seem to notice, so Castiel reasons that he can’t be upset at the intrusion of personal space.

Dean flips through the channels aimlessly for a few minutes while Castiel sips his coffee and ponders how much more at ease he feels today. A large part of that must be the absence of John and Jo, but some of it also has to be how effortlessly Dean and Mary have included him in their fold. It feels safe, and welcoming, and it almost makes Castiel forget about the unpleasantness of the last few days.

“Here’s the plan: we’re going to start with Home Alone—the first one—because that’s only my favorite movies, and we’ll take it from there. If there’s anything you really want to see—?”

It takes Castiel a moment of staring before he recognizes the question. “Oh. No, Christmas movies are generally not my favorite.”

Now Dean pauses. “We can watch something else, if you want,” he offers. 

“No, it’s fine, I didn’t mean—”

“You shouldn’t do something if you don’t really want to, Cas,” Dean insists. “It’s your vacation, too, you’re supposed to be enjoying it.”

“That really hasn’t been my primary concern,” Castiel admits quietly. Dean’s brow furrows.

“Yeah, I figured. That’s why I’m making it my mission to make sure you enjoy the rest of the trip,” Dean declares. “Starting with movie day and running straight through to Christmas. So come on, tell me: what do you want to watch?”

Castiel hesitates, before turning back to the television screen. “I think you passed Die Hard?”

Dean’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline. “You like Die Hard?”

“Very much,” Castiel says. “And it also seems to fulfill your ‘Christmas-themed’ requirement.”

That startles a laugh out of Dean. “You’re right. Best of both worlds, huh? Okay,” he says, turning back to the television. “Die Hard it is.”

Castiel reaches out a hand and touches Dean gently on the shoulder. The other man turns to him, a question on his lips. “Don’t misunderstand me: I appreciate the effort you’re making, but I don’t understand it. I’m leaving in two days; what does it matter if I enjoy the rest of my stay?”

Dean smiles at Castiel, but his expression is a sad one. “Gotta make sure you like us enough to come back, Cas. I don’t want you to run out of here and never come back again just because my sister is a scary man-eater.”

Aha. Castiel thinks back to his conversation with Mary and understands. “No matter how terrifying your sister,” he confides in Dean, “she could not run me off. I’m too invested in the other family members to let her.”

Dean’s lips quirk up on one side. “I’m holding you to that, man. I can’t tell you the last time Sam brought somebody home that I actually liked. Not that I’ve met too many of them—”

“What about the rest of your siblings?” Castiel asks, suddenly interested. “Have you approved of their significant others?”

Dean slants a look at Cas. “This between you and me?”

“Yes,” Castiel reassures him.

“I like Meredith a lot, but you already knew that. She’s a spitfire. But more than that, she pulls Adam out of his shell. She’s good for him like that. Jo—well, to be honest, she hasn’t brought that many people home. I don’t blame her,” he hastens to add. “Between me and Dad, nobody’s got a chance in hell of making it out alive. But from what I heard, she generally picks good guys.”

“And Sam?” Castiel presses. He knows the basics about Sam’s exes, but he wonders, now, how they appeared to his family. 

Dean shrugs. “Jess and Madison were both nice, Ruby was a bitch. Of course, I only really liked one person Sam’s brought home.”

Castiel is running through names in his mind, trying to think of people Sam has dated. Brady was in California, Cara didn’t last very long—“

“So I’m pretty glad that he’s spending Christmas with us,” Dean adds, and it takes Castiel long moments to understand what Dean’s saying. When he does get it, he blushes furiously. 

“Sorry,” Dean says. “I know that was really cheesy, but I couldn’t help it. You’ve been through the ringer this week, thought it might help.”

“It did,” Castiel replies. “I mean, it does. I didn’t—”

He has to stop, because his chest feels tight with the weight of all his unfulfilled hopes and expectations. It suddenly feels too hot in the room, and Castiel wants to leave, to retreat to his bedroom or the bathroom or somewhere where Dean can’t pin him to the couch with the weight of his eyes.

“You didn’t what, Cas? Hey, man, breathe.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel begins, only to be cut off by Dean.

“Don’t apologize. Just calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

“I didn’t expect this,” Castiel blurts out. As hard as he’s been trying to keep his emotions under control, it feels good to finally say it. “I didn’t think that your family would warm to me right away, or even that they would particularly like me, but I didn’t expect it to be such a disaster.”

“It isn’t—”

“Don’t lie,” Castiel says sharply, before he can stop himself. “I know that your father feels badly disguised disgust, both at me and my relationship with Sam. And Jo has made no secret of her hatred, although in her case, I have at least done something to warrant it.”

“Dad and Jo are—I don’t know what the word is, Sam told it to me one time and I forgot,” Dean explains. “Uh, they react before they think about things. It means they come off strong on their opinions, but if you give them time, they come around.”

“It isn’t just that,” Castiel says. “I can see it in everyone’s eyes—I’m not who they would have chosen for Sam, I’m not someone who can welcomed into this family. As a matter of fact, I doubt that your father will ever approve of me, given his unhappiness with Sam’s sexual orientation.”

“Hey,” Dean says, cutting off the flow of Castiel’s words. It’s probably a fortunate occurrence; had Castiel not stopped to take a breath, he would probably be in the throes of a panic attack by now. “How often do people end up with somebody their family would pick for them? And how many times is that even a good thing? If my dad had his way, I would be married to Lisa right now, and I’d be miserable. It’s not about what they want; it’s about what you want.”

Castiel moves to open his mouth again, but Dean claps a hand over it. “Seriously. You can’t spend the rest of your life worrying about what other people are thinking. Who cares if someone doesn’t like you; that’s their fucking problem, not yours. Stop stressing about it.”

“Is that an order?” Castiel asks weakly, once Dean has removed his hand. He feels overwhelmed by the rush of emotions and the confusion that Dean’s words are causing.

“Yeah, it is. Because I think you need it to be. Now, sit back, relax, and let’s watch this movie.”

Dean leans back against the couch, still holding his coffee cup in one hand, and Castiel mirrors his movements. It’s not exactly comfortable, with the way his body is twisted to one side, until Dean looks over, rolls his eyes at Castiel’s expression, and slings an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Relax,” Dean whispers against Castiel’s ear, and he tries.

#####  _Dean_

Castiel falls asleep halfway through Die Hard. Dean would be weirded out by that—it’s only nine o’clock in the morning—if it weren’t for the bags under Castiel’s eyes and how obvious it is that he hasn’t been sleeping at all since he and Sam showed up. Dean had more-or-less lost feeling in his arm after the first fifteen minutes of Castiel’s head on his shoulder, but he stubbornly stays in the same position throughout the film. It’s the least he can do for the poor guy. 

Castiel snores. Luckily, Dean has seen the movie so many times that he knows all the lines by heart, but still, it’s distracting as hell. So’s the way Castiel keeps moving closer, pressing his cold nose up against Dean’s shoulder and making this snuffling nose in between snores. Dean had yanked a blanket over Castiel but it’s clearly not helping the guy’s temperature issues. He tries not to think about the way Sam’s always sweating, even when he’s just sitting still, and whether it’s weird or normal that he and Castiel are so unlike.

All of Dean’s thinking does absolutely nothing to distract him from the real problem. Which is that Sam brought his stupidly cute boyfriend home for Christmas and Dean can’t deal with it like a rational human being. 

Look, Winchesters have great taste and people find them irresistible. This isn’t the first time that one of Dean’s siblings has brought home someone who’s gorgeous. Dean reacts the same way every time: he compliments them, he flirts a little, he bothers the hell out of Sam and Adam (and once, memorably, Jo) while he’s doing it, and then he leaves it alone, because he isn’t a scumbag and he can’t even imagine cheating, or helping someone else to cheat, or hurting one of his family members like that. 

But Castiel is different and Dean can’t understand why. He may be good-looking but he’s also awkward, and shit at human interaction, and he talks like a textbook and can’t ever seem to relax. He’s an accountant, for Christ’s sake. Dean can’t think of someone he could be less attracted to if he tried. 

He’s not trying. Because he has Castiel next to him on the couch, sleeping up against his shoulder while Sam is off in Kansas City, and for a little while, he doesn’t have to worry about what he’s going to do or even think about it. Dean can just sit here and enjoy the moment, since it’s been so long since he had something like this in his hands.

Sam’s going to be home soon, Dean thinks distantly. Even before that, his mom will be back, or maybe his dad, and he’s going to have to push Castiel away and go back to watching him being happy with Sam. 

He makes himself stop thinking about it. No point in not enjoying what you’ve got.

Dean’s cell phone buzzes up against his hip as Hans Gruber falls to his death. He eases it out of his pocket just enough to see ‘Mom’ flashing on the screen. With a last regretful look, he eases his way out from under Castiel, sticking a pillow in his place so that Cas won’t completely fall over. The guy doesn’t even notice, just goes on snoring through the confrontation in the lobby.

Dean meets his mother right outside the front door. She’s got a armful of bags and is digging through her purse for the house keys. “I got them, Mom,” he says, pulling the bags out of her hands. “There more in the car?”

“Thanks, sweetie,” she says. “Just a few, you’ve got almost everything. Let me hold the door open for you.”

They bring the groceries into the house quietly, unpacking in tandem. Somehow, Dean always ends up with this task. He doesn’t really mind. Helping his mom and getting the first look at all the treats they’ve got in the house? It’s a sweet deal.

When they finish, his mom collapses into a chair with an overdramatic flourish. “Wow! I always forget how much more work there is when you’ve got all your kids eating you out of house and home.”

“That’d be all Sam,” Dean says. “I bet you regret having those tall genes in your family, huh?”

“You’re not so short yourself,” she shoots back. “And I’m pretty sure you can out-eat anybody in this house.”

Dean shrugs. “Probably.”

His mom eyes him critically from across the table. “Well, that’s not so enthusiastic for Christmas Eve. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Where’s Castiel? Is Sam back yet?”

“No, I think he’s still driving. Cas fell asleep during Die Hard, I left him on the couch.”

“Uh-huh,” Mary says. “Dean, if something’s going on, you know you can always talk to me, right? That’s what mothers are for.”

Dean can’t help but smile at that. Growing up, his dad had always been his role model, but his mom is the best person he knows. If there’s anyone that he could talk to about Castiel—about his stupid feelings—it’d be her. But Sam’s her son, too, and he’d never ask her to take sides between the two of them.

“Nothing, Mom. Just hoping everything goes alright tonight.”

Mary reaches across the table to take Dean’s hand. “Me too. About last night—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean interrupts her, because he already knows where this is going. 

“No, Dean, listen to me for a second. You know your Dad is set in his ways, but he didn’t mean what he said about Lisa.”

“What, you telling me you don’t think we should have gotten married?” Dean asks, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Come on, I know you’re dying for grandkids.”

“If or when you guys decide to have kids, you know that your dad and I will be happy for you, Dean. But I happen to think your dad is completely wrong about Lisa.”

Dean feels his eyebrows rise in surprise. His mom hadn’t said much when he and Lisa had broken up; preaching to the choir is all his dad’s department. But he’d always assumed that she was disappointed in him for not making it work with Lise. “Yeah?”

“Sometimes, no matter how much you love somebody, it doesn’t work out. And there can be a lot of reasons why, but the most important thing is that you don’t make a decision based on what other people want for you. That’s just the road to unhappiness.”

“You sound just like me, Mom,” Dean says, laughing a little. “I was just telling Cas the same thing before.”

“Oh?” Mary asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah, he was freaking out about how nobody likes him and he’s not what we would have picked for Sam. I told him what other people would pick for you doesn’t matter, because you have to pick for yourself.” He bumps his shoulder against his mother’s. “Guess I should have sent him to you for a lecture instead.”

“Those are some words of wisdom,” Mary says quietly. “I hope you take them to heart, honey. You have to do what makes you happy in life.”

Dean’s a little surprised, because his mom doesn’t usually go in for the deep soul-searching stuff, especially this early in the day. Maybe it’s because it’s Christmas time and everyone’s more prone to introspection. “I know that, Mom.”

“Don’t forget it, sweetie.” Mary cups his face briefly with one hand before pulling away. “I need to get started on the cooking for this weekend. Why don’t you go wake up Castiel and watch another movie?”

“I think I’m going to let him sleep, he’s pretty wiped,” Dean says. “I’m going to call Lisa and find out what time they’re coming.”

Lisa is still at home when Dean calls. She tells him they should be there by four o’clock and that, under no circumstances, should Dean tell Ben anything about his gifts, because he’s been fishing for weeks now. Dean can’t help but laugh, because Ben is just as determined as Lisa when it comes to getting what he wants, and it’s a quality he’s always loved about them.

When he gets back to the den, Castiel is still asleep. He looks even more relaxed now, his arms wrapped around the pillow while he snores over the sounds of ‘Elf’ on the television. Dean thinks about trying to take his place back, imagines waking up Cas and wiping that blissful look off his face, and settles for taking a seat at the other end of the couch. As soon as he sits down, Castiel stretches his feet out, digging them into Dean’s lap and burrowing further down into the couch. Dean has never found this couch that comfortable but hey, if Cas likes it, he’ll let it slide. He pulls the blanket over both of them, the draft from the windows finally making him shiver, and settles in to enjoy some Will Ferrell. 

Sam gets back at eleven o’clock with Sarah. Castiel, when he woke up, had insisted on helping Mary in the kitchen as she set up for lunch, so Dean had declared their movie day on hiatus until further notice. As soon as Sam walks through the front door, followed by a tall brunette, Castiel’s entire face lights up and Dean feels his heart drop. His only consolation is that Cas only stops in front of Sam for a brief kiss before moving on to greet his sister.

“Hey, big brother!” the girl says, pulling Castiel into a tight hug that goes on forever. Around them, Sam is moving, leaning over to give his mother a kiss and coming over to greet Dean.

“Sorry we took so long, Sarah had a problem with her luggage. Dean, Mom, this is Sarah Blake, Castiel’s sister. Sarah, this is my mom, Mary, and my older brother, Dean.”

Sarah walks across the room, her hand still tight around Castiel’s. She’s basically pulling her brother across the room, but it doesn’t look silly, just like she can’t bear to be away from him for even a minute. “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you,” she says, holding out her other hand to greet Dean and Mary. Behind her, Castiel looks sheepish, but also happy. “Sam talked about you guys the whole way home. Thank you for having me in your home, I hope I’m not imposing.”

“Not at all,” Mary says. “Any family of Castiel is welcome here. I hope you enjoy your stay in Kansas.”

Sarah smiles and it makes her look so much like Cas that they could be twins. “Getting to spend the holiday with my brother? This is already going to be the best Christmas in a long time.” She and Cas smile at each and there’s a moment where it’s infectious and everyone stands around the kitchen smiling at each other and looking dumb before Mary clears her throat.

“Sam, why don’t you show Sarah to one of the guest bedrooms so she can settle in? And then come back down, I need your help with something. You, too, Dean,” she adds, seeing him try to sneak out the kitchen door. The ‘leave them alone so they can catch up’ is unspoken but perfectly clear. 

Sarah’s got two bags and after a brief tussle between her and Sam over the larger one, she holds up her hands in defeat, laughing as Dean and Sam each grab a suitcase and start heading upstairs. “Such gentlemen,” she says, in a teasing voice. “Cas, you really lucked out.”

“I know,” Castiel says, shooting grateful looks at Sam and Dean. Sam doesn’t notice, focused on not tripping over his giraffe-like legs, but Dean smiles back. 

“Dean, Sarah’s an artist,” Sam explains, looking back over his shoulder at their group and almost falling on his face. “She has her own gallery in New York.”

“That’s cool,” Dean replies, wondering why Sam, who just met the girl a few hours ago, is telling him her life story, instead of her own brother.

“Thanks,” Sarah says, blushing a little. “It’s not that big a thing—”

She’s immediately drowned out by a combination of Sam protesting, “Yes, it is!” and Castiel chiming in with, “It’s a great thing, Sarah.” She rolls her eyes at the interruption.

“Cas, you’re just biased because you’re my brother. And Sam, you just seem easily impressed.”

Sam ducks his head a little and blushes. Castiel shoots him a fond smile. “Yes, I’ve often found that to be the case.”

Dean follows Sam into another of their spare bedrooms, lowering the suitcase to the floor. Sam has this look on his face like he’s looking for an excuse to stay upstairs and talk to Sarah and Cas, but, mindful of what their mom said, Dean speaks up before Sam can start asking about weather patterns on the East Coast or something equally boring.

“Come on, Sasquatch, you heard Mom. We’ve got stuff to do downstairs.”

Sam pulls a bitchface, but looks slightly mollified when Sarah says, “Don’t worry, you can grill me all you want over dinner.”

They leave Sarah and Castiel sitting on her bed, already engrossed in conversation with their heads tilted close together. Dean is a little weirded out by how very much alike they look.

He’s even more weirded out by the fact that the beautiful girl on a bed is doing nothing for him. Castiel’s smile, the look of happiness on his face, that’s what Dean finds best about the picture.

He hangs his head as he walks down the stairs, letting all of Sam’s excited ramblings wash over him. If there were ever a worse time for Dean to be feeling like this, he can’t imagine it. God, between his own family, Sarah, and Lisa and Ben showing up tonight, he’s going to have to be on high-alert not to say or do anything stupid. 

“Hi, Mom. What do you need us to do?” Sam asks, sounding like an eager puppy. He’s practically bouncing up and down. Guy must’ve had a triple whatever the hell they make at Starbucks, he’s vibrating with energy.

Mary eyes them critically, probably wondering why Dean looks like he’s walking to the guillotine while Sam looks inexplicably excited. Dean tries to force a smile onto his face before his mother gets suspicious and starts hounding him about his feelings. Now’s not the time for that.

“Nothing, honey, I just wanted to make sure you gave Castiel and Sarah a little time by themselves.”

“I thought you were the brains in this family, Sammy,” Dean says, clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder. When Sam looks like he’s about to start arguing, Mary holds up a hand.

“Counselor, I’m not prepared to hear any statements to the contrary at this point,” she says, struggling to keep a straight face even while Dean starts laughing and Sam looks incredibly put-out. “Seriously. Let them have some time together, I’m sure there are things they need to catch up on.”

Sam nods sadly. Jesus, had he missed his boyfriend that much? It’s only been a couple of hours. Dean feels a spark of irritation in his chest at the thought of his brother and Castiel being that attached at the hip. “I’m going to go do some work on the Impala. Call me if you need any help in here, Mom.”

Sam looks a little surprised at his sudden announcement, but their mom just nods. “It’s okay, I’ve got all my manual labor needs covered right here. Don’t I, baby?” she asks Sam, and Dean is so busy beating a hasty retreat that he doesn’t hear his brother’s reply.

Killing a couple of hours with his first and very best girl never fails to make Dean feel better. The Impala doesn’t need any serious work—either on her interior or her exterior—but there are always some little things that could use tweaking. It’s more just a matter of being in the garage, and feeling the strength and power of his baby under his hands, that makes Dean happy. She was a sixteenth birthday present from his father and nothing has ever topped her. 

For a little while, he lets his worries fly out the window and just concentrates on doing what he does best. He works under the hood for a little while before this weird sense of exhaustion overcomes him and he moves, settling in the driver’s seat. He messes around with the radio, organizes his shoebox of cassette tapes, and starts cleaning the dash. 

After a couple of minutes, he gives up. Leaning his head back against the seat, Dean sighs heavily. It’s no use. Even working on his car can’t distract him from how fucked up the situation is. First person he’s been attracted to in months, and it’s his brother’s boyfriend. More than that, it’s his brother’s boyfriend who’s spent the last few days being steamrolled by their family, and who’s probably never going to want to come back to Kansas again. Dean’s got two, maybe three more days before Castiel walks out of his life forever and he knows that it’s corny and sentimental and totally un-fucking-likely that this is anything more than a crush, but it still feels like a punch in the chest. 

He knows it’s probably just because he’s lonely, because it’s been so long since he dated someone, but he can’t help but feel like he needs to do something. Castiel is so different from anyone he’s ever liked and Dean knows that it’s ridiculous, but he just thinks that if things were different, if he’d met Cas in a diner somewhere or at a bar, that maybe they could have something. That he would actually want to try to have something with the guy.

Whatever. It’s useless to think about it now. Castiel isn’t some handsome stranger that he met on the street; he’s Sam’s boyfriend, the guy he lives with, the guy he’s probably going to spend the rest of his life with. If Dean is lucky, he’ll get to see Cas once or twice a year at birthdays or Christmas. 

_[Meredith finds Dean in the car and they talk; mid-day: Lisa and Ben show up, tension, Cas sees a new side to Dean, dinner with Lisa, Ben, and Winchesters, presumably where more stuff goes awry because that’s life. Off-screen, Sam and Sarah hang out.] >/i>_

__

__

Lisa pops “It’s A Wonderful Life” into the DVD player just after dinner. It’s a little early, but Ben looks like he’s only a few hours away from a total sugar crash (Dean has lived through more than his share of those, usually his own fault) and it’s his favorite Christmas movie. Dean settles on the couch, Ben squeezed in between him and Lisa, while his parents claim the loveseat and Adam and Meredith wrestle over possession of John’s recliner. Sam hadn’t been interested in the movie—he never bad mouths it in front of Ben, but he’s privately told Dean that it’s sentimental and tacky—and Castiel and Sarah had opted to hang out with him in the living room. 

Dean is resolutely not upset that Castiel gave up so easily on their holiday movie marathon. Why wouldn’t he rather spend time with his boyfriend and his sister instead of Dean?

“I owe everything to George Bailey,” the opening narration begins, as Ben nestles up against Dean’s side. He and Lisa share a smile over the kid’s head: they both know that Dean is the closest thing Ben has to a father, and Ben’s the closest thing he has to a son. If he’s being honest with himself—which he rarely is—Dean sometimes think that he and Lise would still be together, if it was the only way to have Ben. He’d spent two years with the kid, going to parent-teacher conferences and baseball games and doctor’s appointments, and if he’d had to lose it, just because things with Lisa didn’t work out, Dean doesn’t know where he’d be right now.

He doesn’t get to see Ben as much as he’d like, but there’s still Christmas and birthdays, every few weekends when he’d doesn’t have anything going on in town. Dean doesn’t know how he’ll balance it when he starts dating someone else, but he knows that he’s not giving up Ben, as long as the kid’ll have him.

“If you’re going to help a man, you want to know something about him, don’t you?” the angel pulses at Clarence, and when Dean looks up, he finds Lisa smiling at him. She squeezes his hand gently and he realizes that he’s got tears in his eyes. The film is already getting to him.

True to form, Ben falls asleep while George Bailey and Mary Hatch are walking along in the moonlight. Adam and Meredith are so entwined that it’s hard to tell, but Dean thinks they’re both drifting off, too. Over on the loveseat, his parents are awake; they’re looking at each other so intently that Dean feels like he’s interrupting a private moment, and he looks away hurriedly. Ben’s shifted so that his head is on Lisa’s lap and his feet are on Dean’s. It’s a mirror of Cas’s position earlier that morning, and Dean wonders where he and Sam have gone off to. Probably upstairs to sleep, although Dean’s surprised that his brother wouldn’t have come into to say ‘goodnight.’

His cell phone vibrates suddenly. Pulling it from his pocket, Deans read ‘unknown caller’ and a 917 area code. He doesn’t recognize the number and can’t think of anyone who would call on Christmas Eve, but he always picks up his phone, because you never know when someone in your family is calling from a gas station or the police.

Lisa sees his movements and pulls Ben close enough that Dean can slip out without having to wake him up. He shoots her a grateful smile as he ducks into the hallway to answer his phone.

“Hello?”

“Dean?” comes Castiel’s familiar voice through the phone.

Dean looks around, wondering why the hell Cas would call him from the house. Who does that instead of just walking downstairs?

“Yeah, Cas. What’s going on, why are you calling me?”

Castiel coughs. “It’s—a bit of a a long story. I was wondering—?

“Yeah,” Dean replies after a beat. “Cut the foreplay, what do you need?”

“A ride,” Castiel blurts out. 

“Why don’t you just ask Sam? I’m sure he’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”

“Sam doesn’t know where I am.”

Dean looks over his shoulder and up at the staircase, still not getting what the hell is going on. “Cas, buddy, you need to start making sense.”

“I drove to the town center with our rental car,” Cas explains, sounding sheepish. “But I didn’t realize how little gas there was. My car stalled a few miles from the shops, I just need a ride to the gas station.”

Dean frowns. “Did you say Sam doesn’t know where you are?”

“I told him I had to slip out for a moment and that I would stay downstairs to watch the movie afterwards,” Castiel says. “I didn’t want him to question how long I was gone for. He and Sarah are very engaged in a conversation about functional art history.”

“Of course they are,” Dean snorts. He risks a look back at the living room, but no one’s come out after him yet. Ben probably won’t wake up again tonight and he’s seen George Bailey come to appreciate the miracle of life so many times that he knows all the words. “You drove the same way we got to the highway yesterday? Alright, stay put, I’ll be there in a few.”

Dean ducks into the living room just long enough to whisper an explanation in Lisa’s ear. Adam and Meredith have now completely morphed into one asymmetrical, amorphous figure, and his mom is asleep, her head on his dad’s shoulder. Lisa just nods, accepting his words in her usual calm fashion before dropping a kiss on his cheek and telling him to drive safely.

The rental car is a white Honda, which makes is that much easier for Dean to spot it, sitting forlornly on the side of the road. He eases in right behind it, debates sneaking up on Castiel and scaring the shit out of him, and ultimately decides to be the bigger person, because it’s Christmas Eve. Dean walks over to the driver’s door and raps on the window. He would have expected Castiel to already be looking up, with the sound of the Impala’s engine audible from a good mile away, but he’s looking down and jumps at the sound of Dean’s knuckles. 

Dean can’t help but chuckle at the sight of Castiel’s ‘deer in the headlights’ look. “Thank you for coming,” Cas says, as soon as he opens the door and gets out, hands tucked deep in his pockets. “I’m sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve—”

“Would’ve bothered me a lot more if you’d frozen to death out here. Come on, lock up, gas station’s right down here.”

Castiel follows him back to the Impala silently. As soon as they’re inside, Dean cranks the heat up high, because the guy looks like he’s freezing. “So, what was so important that you couldn’t tell Sam where you were going?”

Castiel looks at him, slant-eyed and considering. “I suppose, since I didn’t make it to my destination, that I might as well tell you. I don’t have a gift for Sarah,” he says, hanging his head a little and looking like a kicked puppy. “I’m having something made for her in California, but I didn’t think I’d see her until long after the holidays are over, so it’s not ready yet.”

“So what? She’s your sister, I don’t think she’ll be mad about it.”

“I just feel bad,” Castiel explains. “She is giving up her holiday in New York to stay with me, and she’ll only have a single gift under the tree to open tomorrow.”

“A gift?” Dean asks, pulling his eyes from the road to stare at Cas. “From who?”

“Sam bought her something from the airport gift shop. I think it’s just a calendar or a coffee mug, their selection is never great.”

“Hmm. Well, I’m sure my mom has a couple of stock presents we can throw together for Sarah in the morning. Honestly, though, Cas, from what I’ve seen of your sister, she isn’t going to care about that. I think she’s just happy to see you for Christmas.”

“I know,” Castiel says. “I just keep imagining how I’d feel in her position, if she asked me to fly back to New York for Christmas to meet her boyfriend’s family. It’s a lot to ask someone; I’m grateful that she came, but I still feel—”

“Like you’re imposing,” Dean interrupts. When Cas looks surprised, he shrugs. “I’ve got three siblings, man, you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. Here’s the thing, though: she’s glad that you called.”

“How do you—”

“I didn’t talk to her,” Dean reassures Castiel. “Every time Sam or Adam or Jo calls me for help or advice or whatever they need, they always apologize. And I always tell them the same thing: that I’m glad they come to me when they have problem. It’s a sign of love, Cas, not weakness. Everybody needs help sometimes; you should just be glad you have people to call on when it happens.”

Castiel is silent for so long that Dean starts reviewing what he said: was there something offensive in there? He wants to ask Cas what’s wrong, but the other man is staring down and appears intent on his thoughts.

“I had never considered it that way before,” he explains, after the lengthy silence. “In my family, we were always taught to be resilient from a young age. I guess that the idea of reliance on another is still foreign to me.”

“Don’t think about it as leaning on someone,” Dean instructs. “Think about it as propping each other up. Like two boards,” he says, illustrating with his hands as soon as he’s turned the engine off. “You get a lot more support when you distribute the weight like this.”

Castiel is staring at Dean’s hands like they hold the secret to life or something and Dean starts to flush after a minute. “We’re here. Come on, let’s stock up,” he says, stepping out of the car. When he looks behind him, Castiel is following.

The gas station happens to be next to a bar. Total coincidence, Dean didn’t plan it, it was just the closest place to fill up, but now that they’re here, there’s no reason not to grab a drink.

Or two.

Castiel doesn’t look impressed by Dean’s logic, but he’s following him across the street, so Dean counts it as a win. By the time they get home, everyone’s either going to be asleep or arguing over what DVD to put on next (Dean would put even money on both), but Ben and Lisa will definitely be in bed, so there’s really no reason to rush. 

All right, Castiel probably has a reason to rush, because he’s got a boyfriend waiting for him (and Dean is not thinking about that at all), so Dean promises himself that as soon as Castiel wants to leave, they’ll go. He’s not going to drink that much; hangovers on Christmas day are a particular kind of hell, and Dean has experienced enough to say that with confidence (Jo delights in putting the television as loud as it can go, while Adam and Sam make a new sport out of the creative ways to pelt Dean with excess wrapping paper). 

“Just a drink or two and we’ll get out of here,” he promises Castiel, because it works a lot better if he says it out loud, too. 

The waitress walks by and Dean is prepared to order a scotch and savor it, because he doesn’t want to drink tomorrow in front of Ben, but Cas speaks up first.

“Double shots of tequila,” he says, and Dean feels his eyebrows hit the roof. “And I will also take a Jack and Coke. Dean?”

Things are considerably fuzzy two hours later. Castiel, scrawny as he appears, is actually the complete opposite of a lightweight. He’s been knocking back shot after shot (the bartender, sensing a good thing, had started sending free ones over after the third round), sipping his whiskey in between and just generally radically adjusting Dean’s view of him.

“I never would have thought that you—you know,” Dean says, using his hands to finish the sentence. Whatever, Cas knows what he means.

“Gay?” Castiel asks, arching a dark eyebrow. “I am surprised, that is usually everyone’s first assumption.”

“No, I meant, that you drink so much. Not that you’re drinking too much, just—you look like a wine spritzer kind of guy, you know? Not—this,” he says, flailing in the general direction of the empty shot glasses.

Castiel shrugs. “I went to a lot of frat parties in college.”

Dean’s pretty sure that his jaw lands in a puddle of scotch on its way to the floor, but who cares. 

In the last two hours, they’ve talked about everything from the relative merits of California versus Kansas (“it’s always the same temperature!” Dean had argued; “People wear bikinis year-round,” Castiel countered, and Dean chalked up a point for the Sunshine State) to who had a worse job (“People’s stupidity when it comes to their finances cannot be explained,” Castiel began, before Dean snorted and said, “You think that’s bad, you should see the shape their cars are in before they bring them in”), concluding with a frank discussion about all the ways Castiel was afraid John would murder him before the holiday was over (“In my sleep, in my car, in the backyard,” Castiel promptly listed, showing no signs of stopping, before Dean clapped a hand over his mouth and said, “You’ve got no creativity. Let me tell you all the ways he actually threatened to kill me when I was a kid”). 

Dean’s starting to think that it’s time to head back: as much fun as he’s having and as relaxed as Castiel is looking for the first time in three days, it’s getting late and Ben is going to want to open presents at the ass crack of dawn, in just a few short hours. As soon as he brings it up, though, Castiel holds up a hand, like he’s asking Dean for silence, before he frantically waves the waitress over and starts ordering more drinks.

“Now that they’ve poured them, it would be rude not to drink them, wouldn’t it?” he asks Dean in a wheedling tone.

“I don’t think the bartender would shed any tears over it, Cas.”

“But it would unsanitary to ask them to pour them back into the bottles, wouldn’t it?”

Dean just shakes his head in amazement. “If you insist, man. But we’re going to regret this tomorrow,” he says, following Castiel’s lead and throwing back another shot.

“No more than I already regret this whole trip,” Cas mutters. He was probably trying to do it under his breath, but he’s seriously underestimated his vocal cords, because it comes out clear as a bell.

Before he can think about, Dean is stretching a hand across the table, picking up Castiel’s when he doesn’t hear a protest. “I know. It’s been a terrible trip for you, huh?”

Cas must be really drunk now, because he’s having a lot of trouble focusing on Dean’s face, his eyes tracking all over the place. “Some parts, yes. Some parts have been unexpectedly good.”

Dean smiles. “Guess that means you’ll come back and visit sometime, right?”

“Do you want to see me again?” Cas asks.

“Of course I do!” Dean tries to gesture, to let Castiel know just how much he means it, but he forgets that he’s still holding Cas’s hand, and so he accidentally slams their interlocked fingers down on the sticky bar top.

“Ow, sorry. But I do want you to come back, Cas,” he says, trying to look as serious as possible, so that Cas understands how serious he is. He must be drunk, too, because he can’t look into Castiel’s eyes without having to blink and look down. 

“Then I will be back,” Cas says, squeezing Dean’s hand gently, the same way Lisa had done a few hours earlier. “I confess, I’ve enjoyed Kansas more than I expected to.”

“It was totally the mall, wasn’t it?” Dean says confidently. “I knew it, everybody always loves the mall.”

Castiel smiles and he looks fond. “Yes, the mall was a very good experience.”

“Next time, you and Sam can stay with me,” Dean says. “My place is pretty small, but I think you’ll like it a lot better.”

They stumble out of the bar an hour later. Dean has his arm wrapped around Cas’s shoulders because he’s not sure whether either of them can stand up by themselves. It’s pretty stupid, and a little irresponsible on—oh, look, it’s already Christmas day—but Dean doesn’t really care, because talking with Cas for the last three hours has been the best part of his week. 

There’s a taxi waiting outside for them. Dean stops so that he can say goodbye to the Impala. He’d thought about calling one of his siblings (probably Adam, he’s the least likely to make a fuss) to come pick her up, but in the end, he didn’t think waking up his brother at 12:15 AM on Christmas morning would go over too well. Dean resigns himself to having to spend the night without his girl, although the bartender had promised to keep an eye on her until closing. 

He pats her hood gently. “See you tomorrow, honey.” With Castiel pressed against his side, Dean can feel the other man’s silent laughter at his endearments. “Listen, just because you drive some cheap airport rental—”

“I have a very respectable Prius back in California,” Cas says solemnly, the corners of his mouth twitching, and Dean groans.

“Of course you do. You and Sam, saving the world one tank of gas at a time.”

They more or less fall into the back of the taxi, because Castiel loses control of his legs halfway across the parking lot. Dean half-carriers, half-drags him to the car, and the look of indignant bafflement on Castiel’s face makes him crack up.

“I don’t understand, why can’t I walk?”

“It’s called ‘being on a bender,’ buddy,” Dean replies, pushing himself up and trying to disentangle his arms and legs from Cas’. It’s a losing battle. Dean settles for moving just far enough away that he can look at Cas’s face without going cross-eyed, but that doesn’t last long, because after a few seconds of poking hesitantly at his knees, Castiel gives up, slumping sideways so that he can rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean just slings his arm back around Cas—might as well be comfortable on the ride—and thinks that, for once, his Christmas is off to a good start.

#####  _Castiel_

When Castiel wakes up, the world is ending.

At least, he assume it is. He doesn’t know for sure, because when he opens his eyes, a dying sun is going supernova directly in front of his face, and the pain of the explosion sears his eyes so badly that he wants to cry. 

Or possibly throw up.

There’s also a persistent ringing in his ears, and what feels like a continuous drumbeat pounding out directly in his sensitive sinus areas. His throat is parched, as though he’s traveled for years through a desert, he’s sweating profusely, and there’s a roiling in his stomach that makes him think he’s swallowed a tsunami. 

Castiel utterly and completely wishes to die. Or, at the very minimum, to fall back asleep for another fifteen hours until he doesn’t feel so wretchedly hungover.

He cracks open one eyelid, more cautiously this time. He has no idea where he is, how he came to be here, or how the hell he got so drunk. For a moment, he wonders if he’s died and gone to hell.

There’s a sharp rapping at the door, and John Winchester’s voice rings out. “Dean? You up?”

Castiel sits bolt upright in bed, moving so quickly that he’s amazed he doesn’t puke all over the sheets. He has to clap a hand over his mouth to keep in the whimper that’s threatening to escape. Oh, god. Dean. 

The whole night comes flooding back to him, even as Mr. Winchester knocks again. “Dean?” His stalled car. The shots. The taxi ride home. Castiel can’t remember anything that happened after that, but when he looks down, it’s to see that he’s only clad in boxers.

Oh, shit.

Of all the things that Castiel had not expected to occur on his trip to Lawrence, Kansas—with his boyfriend—sleeping with his boyfriend’s brother is at the top of the list. For a moment, Castiel is so shocked by the knowledge of what had happened—and so disappointed with himself, for what he’s done—that he doesn’t even register the slow turning of the doorknob. A second later, the sound registers in his consciousness, but even as he’s pulling the covers up to his chest and trying to roll off the bed and out of sight, John walks through the door.

He stops dead at the sight of Castiel, shirtless, bright red and probably looking like he’s been run over by a truck, in Dean’s bed. John’s mouth moves silently for a few seconds, like there are words he wants to say but he’s too shell-shocked to understand that they’re not coming out. Castiel braces himself, waits for an explosion, accusations, to be publicly shamed and humiliated in front of the entire Winchester family before being summarily ejected from their home, but after several more seconds of sputtering, John says, “I was just looking for Dean. I’ll…check back downstairs,” gesturing wildly over one shoulder even as he starts backing away slowly towards the door. Castiel nods, still wincing because it seems to be the only expression he’s currently capable of. 

John exits the room, pulling the door shut behind him, and Castiel sags back against the headboard, wishing that miracles still occurred and that the ground could just open up and swallow him whole. The door opens again and Castiel tenses—expecting Dean, Sam, even Mary—but it’s just John, now his own bright shade of red. “Merry Christmas,” he blurts out, before ducking back through the doorframe.

Castiel falls back against the bed and wonders if it would be possible to hitchhike to the airport without developing hypothermia. 

He spends a few minutes in quiet contemplation. The best thing to do would be to return to his own room before anyone else notices him here, half-naked in Dean’s bed, but it’s like there’s a kind of mental switch in his head that’s been flipped. The cards have been drawn. What happened between he and Dean had happened; although Castiel feels ashamed, having never believed that he was capable of cheating on his boyfriend, he can’t change it. When he sees Sam, he’ll have to admit what he’s done and beg for forgiveness, although he assumes that their relationship is almost certainly over. He can’t imagine staying together with Sam if their situations were reversed. 

The bedroom door opens again, this time without warning, and for a second, Castiel thinks that God has heard his thoughts and sent Sam to him, so that they can deal with this as privately and painlessly as possible. It’s only Dean, though, his hair wet and slicked back from the shower, clad only in a towel. Dean smiles as soon as his eyes meet Castiel’s.

“Hey,” he says, voice sounding rough. “Sorry I left, I wanted to get the first shower and try and clean myself up. Lisa said Ben’s chomping at the bit to open presents.” He comes around to Castiel’s side of the bed and sits, the towel hanging precariously low on his hips. “How do you feel?”

Dean had probably not expected a slap in reply, Castiel thinks dispassionately as he watches Dean react with shock to the blow, but considering how cavalier he’s being about last night, Castiel can’t bring himself to regret the maneuver. 

“Jesus Christ, what was that for?” Dean cries out, holding a hand to his cheek and looking wounded. Castiel thinks about letting loose with a litany of explanations, but he’s tired, his throat hurts, and his boyfriend’s probably going to break up with him at any minute in front of eight other people, so he just shoots Dean a look that he sincerely hopes conveys, ‘You’re a moron and I hate you,’ before storming out of the room. Castiel hears Dean rise and start to follow, before cursing, probably realizing that running down the hallways in a towel on Christmas Day is not very socially acceptable.

Castiel finds his sister downstairs, along with Lisa and Ben (who is indeed bouncing up and down in excitement, rifling through the contents of his stocking with glee), Adam, Meredith, Jo and John, who looks away from Castiel after just a moment of eye contact, turning red at (what Castiel assumes is) the memory of this morning’s events. Castiel exchanges “Merry Christmas”es with the entire group, kissing his sister and receiving a somewhat unexpected hug from Lisa. Jo gives him a dirty look from underneath the tree, where she’s sorting through boxes, but since he won’t be in her life after today, Castiel doesn’t even bother with a look of contrition or friendliness. 

“Is there coffee?” he asks, regretting the question as soon as it’s asked because of the way the words feel like gravel on his throat. Sarah frowns at how wrecked he sounds.  
“Are you alright? You never came in to say goodnight last night.”

It’s said quietly enough that no one else can overhear, but Castiel still flushes at his sister’s concern. “Yes. It’s a long story, but I could use a cup of coffee before I tell it.”

Sarah squeezes his hand sympathetically before rising. “I’m on it, big brother. Can I get coffee for anyone else?” she asks, raising her voice, and there are a chorus of “Yes”es, especially loud from Adam and Meredith, who still look dead to the world.

Castiel tries not to make eye contact with anyone while he waits for his sister, although Jo is still shooting him suspicious looks from her spot across the room. He wonders where Sam is (probably still asleep, he guesses) and if he’ll be able to make it through the day before having to explain himself to Sam. It’s unlikely, if only because, the first time Sam tries to kiss him, Castiel doesn’t think he’ll be able to go through with it, knowing that he’s a cheater. 

Sarah is back after only a few moments, looking upset. Castiel rises to meet her instinctively, protective instincts going into overdrive. “What’s wrong?”

Everyone looks up at the sound of Castiel’s voice and John stands, too. “Sarah, everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” she says, smiling, although Castiel can tell how obviously fake it is. “Sam and Mary are just doing some last minute Christmas things in there, so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

John looks unconvinced and Jo is scowling, but Sam and Mary choose that moment to enter the living room, Sam holding the door open for his mother, and Castiel’s heart drops. They both look upset, Sam’s eyes rimmed red and Mary’s hands shaking a little. Castiel doesn’t know what’s going, but hesitating is not an option. He moves towards Sam, embracing his boyfriend. Sam’s arms wrap tight around him, enough that it hurts, but Castiel just squeezes back tighter, not letting go. When they break apart, tears are spilling down Sam’s cheeks, unchecked, but he still smiles at Castiel.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Castiel murmurs back, wondering what went on in the kitchen. All around them, Mary is moving in a circle, gracefully accepting hugs and kisses from all of her extended family. She stops in front of the two of them and, without warning, pulls Castiel into a hug. She’s short enough that her chin reaches Castiel’s neck and she leans against him for a moment before pulling back. “Merry Christmas, Cas,” she tells him with a smile.

“Peace and happiness to you on Christmas,” he replies, the traditional salutation in his family coming to his mind unbidden. Nex to him, Sarah makes a quiet noise and when Castiel looks over, she’s crying, too. He reaches out to pull her close against his side.

Accordingly, Dean chooses that moment to saunter down the stairs, dressed and freshly shaved. Although it’s ridiculously cliché, Castiel’s heart jumps a little at the sight of him.

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!” he calls out in a booming voice, grinning at the crowd.

Ben laughs. “You’re so weird, Dean. You’re supposed to say that on Christmas Eve, you know.”

“Well, pipsqueak, I forgot to, so you get to hear it today,” Dean replies, scooping Ben up into a hug. “Merry Christmas, champ.”

Dean repeats the same ritual that Mary and Sam had, greeting everyone in turn. He begins with Lisa, standing next to Ben, before moving onto John, Adam, Meredith, and Jo. He comes to a stop where Castiel, Sam, Mary and Sarah have carved out their own little corner. Dean hugs Mary for a long time, squeezing her tightly and kissing her cheek before he pulls Sam into an embrace, laughing as they clasp each other tightly. Sarah receives both a fist bump and a hug, and then Dean turns to Castiel, smiling widely, even in the face of last night and this morning’s slap.

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Dean says, embracing him. They stand like that for what feels like a long time, Dean’s body pressed up against his for minutes before he pulls back. 

“Happy Christmas, Dean,” he says softly, relishing the look of delight on Dean’s face and wishing that this didn’t have to be the last day he’ll ever see it.

...

[And thus ends the actual written portion of this. I have a bevy of notes that basically boil down to:

\- The POV was supposed to switch off: 10K of Sam, 10K of Cas, 10K of Dean, 10K of Cas, 5K of Sam, and then 5K of Dean as the epilogue. There should be about 3.5K left of Cas here before it switches back over to Sam, which would probably have been right after Cas announces that he had sex with Sam's brother last night (Adam: "Do NOT look at me").

\- Plot-wise, while everyone is being awkward in the living room, Sam finds Mary in the kitchen and finds out about her cancer diagnosis (hence all the crying); I can't remember if she decided to tell him or if he saw/overheard something he shouldn't have. Sarah walks in and probably overhears something she shouldn't (either about said diagnosis or maybe about how Sam feels like he's falling for her), hence her hasty exit. Cas makes his pronouncement, Dean explains that nothing actually happened (cue Cas: "Isn't there anybody who loves me"? No, he wouldn't say that, but he would convey the sentiment somehow). Sam chases Dean around the kitchen and tries to beat him up (imagine them tussling a la "Tall Tales"). Maybe Ash the paramedic shows up to tend to someone's injuries and he and Jo end up making out in the back of the ambulance, who knows.

\- That's basically where the plot of the movie ends; however, my notes also say, "Sam making up with John," in Sam's POV and, "Cas makes up with Jo and plans to date Dean," in Cas' POV, but I don't remember how I was going to make either of those work.

\- The epilogue was supposed to pick up the following Christmas. As in the movie, Mary has passed away but the Winchesters are still spending the holiday together. Jo is in a happy relationship with someone, Adam and Meredith are engaged, and Sam and Sarah fly back from New York (where Sam has relocated) for a happy reunion with Dean and Cas, who stayed in Lawrence and have adopted a kid. Yes, seriously.]

**Bonus excerpt that didn't belong anywhere else because Dean's POV started too far into the story:**

Christmas has always been, in Dean Winchester’s humble opinion, the most important holiday. Sure, Halloween has completely absurd amounts of candy and Valentine’s Day is like shooting single hotties in a barrel, but nothing’s as cool as Christmas. It’s the one day of the year when, no matter what his family’s doing or who’s been fighting with who, everyone comes back together to drink eggnog and watch Peter Billingsley shoot shit. 

Which is why it makes no sense that his brother, otherwise known as the Grinch, is trying to ruin this most sacrosanct of holidays.

“Dean. Give it a rest,” Jo says, for probably the eighteenth time. “Sam’s bringing him and that’s the end of it.”

“It is not,” Dean insists. “I don’t understand why he’s doing this. If he wants to ruin Christmas, why doesn’t he just shoot Santa?”

Jo’s only reply is to smack Dean in the head, smirking when he yelps. He always forgets how prone to physical violence she is. 

“Stop hitting me, punk. You know I’m right.”

“I know no such thing,” Jo says. “As a matter of fact, I’m completely 100% sure that you’re wrong. Sam bringing his boyfriend to Christmas is just going to make it better.”

Dean scowls. “Bullshit.”

“Are you honestly telling me that you haven’t noticed how lonely Sam is every time he comes home alone and has to watch everyone around him having fun while he mopes?”

“...no,” Dean says, but it’s week and they both know it. All the Winchesters are big on family life, but Sam might be most domestic of all of them. Kid was ready to settle down in Palo Alto at nineteen, and that hasn’t changed in the intervening years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I watched The Family Stone at a very impressionable age (uh, 15, according to IMDB) and it imprinted on me forever, even though it is not a very good movie. This was originally written for NaNoWriMo 2011 and I actually made it to 29K before failure. Despite never finishing it, this one is still very close to my heart. 
> 
> Relationship(s): Castiel/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester/Sarah Blake, John Winchester/Mary Winchester, Adam Milligan/original female character, past Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden.
> 
> Warnings: This whole thing tracks very closely with the movie, so there are many. Strong potential for second-hand embarrassment throughout. Language. Reference to serious illness (cancer) and eventually death of a main character (Mary Winchester). Two characters drink to the point of intoxication and one doesn't remember his actions the next day. Cas expresses view of adoption that are problematic, to say the least. Implied homophobia on the part of John Winchester. Both characters in the original main pairing (Cas and Sam) end up pursuing relationships with the other's sibling by the end. It's never mentioned in-text, but Adam Milligan is John's son from an extramarital affair. Additionally, just be warned of the shitty family dynamics that tend to occur around the holidays. Please let me know if you would like more specific warnings.


	6. SPN: Sweet Home Alabama AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean: [not recognizing Castiel in his sunglasses] Can I help you?
> 
> Castiel: Well, for starters, you can get your stubborn ass down here and give me a divorce.
> 
> Dean: You're shittin' me, right?
> 
> Castiel: I never fully understood that expression, but no, I am not "shitting" you.

### Sweet Home Alabama AU

##### I. Castiel arrives in Kansas

It isn’t the hardest thing Castiel’s ever had to do, not by a long shot. Coming out to his family when he was fifteen, returning home after the prom, deciding to move to New York: all of those events were infinitely more difficult than what he’s facing now, and Castiel is well aware of the fact. If he were to rank the most burdensome days of his life, today wouldn’t even make the top ten.

That doesn’t make it any easier.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel steels himself. He’s going to need every ounce of available fortitude to deal with the situation rationally, calmly. He can’t allow himself to become angry, to rise to the insults or jibes; a shouting match is the worst turn this conversation could take. He just needs to remain balanced.

Raising his fist, Castiel knocks firmly on the front door. A minute later, it swings open. Dean is on the other side of it, close enough for Castiel to reach out and touch, for the first time in years. He’s got a beer in his free hand and he’s smirking at Castiel. That same, familiar expression, but the face wearing it isn’t familiar to Castiel, not anymore.

“Well, what do we have here. Cas Novak, back on my porch after seven years. Time sure flies, huh, Cas? Oh, I’m sorry,” Dean says, his voice mockingly apologetic. “It’s Castiel, now, isn’t it?”

“Hello, Dean.” He is calm; he is a leaf on the wind. He will not let this _infuriating_ man make him mad. “It is good to see you again.”

“Can’t say the same. Can’t say that I’m surprised to see you, either.”

Castiel frowns. “You can’t have been expecting me, I told no one that I was coming.”

“Didn’t need to tell me,” Dean says. He reaches out of sight for a minute, reemerging with the Sunday edition of the New York Times clutched in one hand. “Read all about the good news. Am I supposed to congratulate you, or is that against the rules of etiquette, Ms. Post?”

“How should I know,” Castiel snaps, anger increasing as he realizes that, once again, he’s allowed Dean to get under his skin. “I didn’t come here to discuss that with you, it’s none of your business.”

Dean smirks only grows. “Oh, I’m pretty sure it is my business. I don’t think Mr. Politics is too interested in bigamy, do you?”

“Shut up,” Castiel says. “I came here for one thing, and one thing only, and I’m leaving as soon as I get it. Dean, sign the divorce papers. Now.”

##### II. Dean and Cas as kids

Castiel can’t remember a time when he didn’t know Dean Winchester. There are no memories that haven’t been suffused, in some way or another, with Dean’s presence, the knowledge of his existence. Sometimes, Castiel can imagine that Dean just sprung from his head, a fully formed four year-old, the Athena of Castiel’s mind (except that would involve some incestuous feelings that Castiel really doesn’t feel comfortable with).

The Winchesters lived on Elder Street, four blocks away from the Novaks. Because Castiel shared a home with four tormentors (as he always thought of his elder siblings), the Winchester home was like heaven. He spent more time there than not, fell asleep on their couch more times that he could count. Mr. and Mrs. Winchester never seemed to mind, happy that their son had finally found a companion that encouraged something other than the reckless destruction of property. Castiel’s parents were just glad that their quiet, thoughtful son had finally found someone who brought him out of his shell.

##### III. Seeing Dean again

Dean laughs. “Blunt as ever. See, that’s exactly what I didn’t miss about you, Cas.”

“What a coincidence, your stupid sense of humor and smug attitude are exactly what I didn’t miss about you,” Castiel retorts. Perfect. After exactly two minutes of speaking with Dean, he’s already regressed to childish insults and high-school vocabulary. This is why he hates Dean: it’s impossible for Castiel to maintain his composure around him.

“Honey, you say the sweetest things. Really, though, is this any way to greet your husband after all this time? I was thinking a ‘welcome home’ kiss, maybe a reconciliatory blow-job?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “You wish.” He pushes past Dean into their house—Dean’s house, he mentally corrects. It looks exactly the same, right down to the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

“Have you ever cleaned once since I’ve been gone?” Castiel asks. He can’t help it; the place looks like a pigsty.

“That’s not really your concern, is it?” Dean snarks, flopping down onto the threadbare couch.

“Of course not.” Castiel gives up surveying, although he’s still mentally berating Dean for letting such a beautiful house fall into disrepair. “I was serious, Dean, I want you to sign those papers right now. I need to catch a seven o’clock flight back to New York.”

Dean’s head lolls back on the couch so that he can see Castiel, who is standing behind him. “You’re not going to see your family before you leave?”

“Not this time, no. I need to return to work.”

“Which time, then?” Dean asks, sounding angry. “This is the first time you’ve been back in seven years. Did you even tell them you were coming?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Castiel replies, breathing through his nose and trying to count to ten. He’s having trouble getting past three.

“The hell it is. They’re still my in-laws, Cas. And if you want your stupid papers signed, you better go see them.”

“Are you blackmailing me or threatening me?” Castiel asks, incredulous. The nerve of Dean, after all this time—

Dean smiles. “Consider it positive reinforcement, sweetheart. Better get moving. There’s a storm moving in. You wouldn’t want to be stuck in town all weekend, would you?” He grabs the remote control and turns the television on, a clear dismissal.

For a moment, Castiel can only stand there and gape, although he does momentarily consider launching a blunt object at Dean’s thick skull. Instead, he narrows his eyes. If Dean insists on playing dirty and making this whole affair more difficult than it needs to be, then Castiel can handle that. After all, Dean Winchester is the one who taught him to play dirty.

##### IV. Dean and Cas in high school

Dean and Cas had had what could most clearly be termed an “on and off relationship” throughout high school. Arguments and fights were common, and usually ended with Dean spending a few days hanging around whatever attractive female was closest. There had been Tara, the star of the Drama Club; Bela, one of the international students; and Cassie, editor of the school newspaper.

Cassie had been the worst, with Dean purposely calling her ‘Cas’ every time Castiel was nearby, just to piss him off. Once, he’d done it while staring at Castiel, daring him to say something. Cas had punched Dean in the face (having older brothers did have its benefits), and Dean and Cassie’s relationship had ended when she found Dean and Castiel in the principal’s office, halfway to makeup sex on the uncomfortable plastic chairs.

Castiel had never seen anything wrong with their relationship, although he’d never known any other couple that’d fought as much. Looking back, it was easy to see how dysfunctional he and Dean had been. Castiel wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he was blameless; he’d spurred Dean on more times than not, had thrown plenty of books and coffee cups and pots of paint at his boyfriend’s head in fits of rage. Dean always gave as good as he got, refusing to admit when he was clearly wrong about things and flirting with every female who crossed his path. It had driven Castiel crazy, but he can’t pretend that, at the time, he hadn’t also loved it—having the kind of crazy, passionate relationship that people wrote songs about.

He’d been such a stupid teenager. It hurt his head to think about just how ridiculous he and Dean had been, running around thinking that they’d found their soul mates at age ten. Castiel wished that one of his siblings had had the good sense to smack him around and demand that he gain some perspective, but they’d all found his boyfriend adorable (Anna), hilarious to prank (Gabriel), or had washed their hands of the whole thing at the start (Michael and Zachariah).

##### V. Gabriel

Castiel briefly toys with the idea of driving around town for a few hours (plotting murder scenarios) and then telling Dean that he’s visited his family, but quickly discards that plan. Castiel doesn’t trust Dean not to have some way—be it well-meaning gossip-mongers, well-paid spies, or well-concealed video cameras—of tracking his movements through town.

The easiest thing seems to be playing along with Dean’s ultimatum and leaving town as soon as possible. Castiel resigns himself to staying in Lawrence for another day. Maybe he can catch an early flight out. He texts Balthazar, telling his fiancée that he’s decided to stay in Lawrence for another day and that, no, he doesn’t need Balthazar’s chauffeur to pick him up from LaGuardia.

After that, it comes down to a coin-toss: visit Anna first, or Gabriel? Zachariah is in Washington and Michael is in Los Angeles; Castiel feels fortunate that he only has to deal with two siblings.

“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal son, darkening my doorstep with his insubstantial shadow,” Gabriel says as he opens his front door. “Seriously, what are they feeding you up there? I think you’re thinner than when you left.”

“Hello, Gabriel,” Castiel says, suppressing a sigh. “May I come in?”

“Oh sure, I just love when wayward little brothers show up in the middle of my daytime television.” Gabriel does step aside to let Castiel pass, for which he’s grateful. He doesn’t know what Dean will do if any of his family members refuse to see him—a distinct possibility.

“How are you, Gabriel?”

“Same as I’ve been for the last seven years, not that you’d know anything about that.” Gabriel’s smile is razor-sharp and Castiel is uncomfortably reminded that, growing up, Gabriel’s vengeance was a thing to be feared. “What are you doing here, Castiel?”

Castiel debates. Of all his siblings, Gabriel is the trickiest, but he also appreciates honesty in others and despises hypocrisy. Castiel doesn’t feel comfortable using the lie he’s prepared for everyone else.

“I came back to get a divorce. Dean won’t sign the papers.”

Gabriel laughs, either at Castiel’s blunt honesty or his predicament. “I can’t say I’m surprised. The announcement was on the news, figured you’d come back to fix that mistake.”

Oh, that is not good. “The news?” Castiel repeats weakly.

Gabriel smiles. “One of our hometown heroes—and one of the best contemporary artists in America—gets engaged to a big-name politico in New York and you thought they wouldn’t report on it? You’re lucky they didn’t hired a blimp to fly around the state.” He claps Castiel on the back. “Face it, kiddo, you’re the biggest news since Miss Kansas came in 5th.”

“How flattering,” Castiel says flatly. “So everyone is expecting me, they’ll all know why I’m here.” In his head, he’s already triaging the trauma, figuring out what he’ll have to tell Balthazar, the reporters, the Mayor—

“Relax,” Gabriel says, interrupting Castiel’s internal, panic-stricken monologue. “Everyone knows you’re getting married. Nobody knows you already are.” He shrugs. “You know, aside from us, the Winchesters, and anyone else you’ve been in touch with, which I’m guessing is no one.”

Castiel stares at his brother. This might yet be salvageable. “If the reporters come here, may I have your word that you won’t mention Dean or the marriage?”

Gabriel laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “You’re a little low on favorable brotherly feelings, Castiel. And favors.”

Castiel is suddenly gripped by the belief that he can do this, he can fix everything, if only he can keep his secret kept. “Please, Gabriel, I will do anything you ask, if you help me.”

His brother stares at him, considering. “You’ll owe me one. A big one. To be collected when and however I want, no questions asked.”

“Nothing illegal,” Castiel says, remembering a number of Gabriel’s earliest pranks.

“You’re not in a position to bargain,” Gabriel replies and god, how Castiel knows it. Being forced to ask for help from his family sticks in his throat, but he has no other choice.

“Fine, No mention of Dean, or his family, or anything I said or did when I was younger. And I will owe you a favor.”

“Deal,” Gabriel says immediately. “Was there something else you wanted, because if not, get out, I have things to do.”

Castiel checks his watch. It seems like an appropriate amount of time has passed for a familial visit. All he has to do now is see Anna.

##### VI. Prom

The run-up to prom was, for lack of a better word, a mess. Dean completely refused to go, agreed to go (post blow-job), changed his mind and declared the dance a stupid tradition, gave in when Sam created a PowerPoint extolling the benefits of the ball, told Cas that he’d rather drop dead than go to a stupid prom with him (post breakup #1 that week), and put a deposit down on a tuxedo when his mother told him that she’d never forgive him if he didn’t go and make sure Cas had a good time.

Mary Winchester’s word was law in their neck of the woods, so on June 8th, Dean got dressed, drove the Impala to Cas’s house, and sat patiently through a thousand photographs before they drove back to the Winchesters’ and repeated the process. By the time Mary had finished two whole rolls of film, even Castiel was ready to drive off a bridge just to get away.

Prom was exactly what everyone said it would be—overrated. Dean and Castiel danced a few times, taking turns spinning all their stag friends around the dance floor before retiring to a corner and making out through a bunch of slow songs. Dean snuck in a flash and Gabriel—four years a high school graduate—showed up to schmooze with the chaperones and spike the punch, an annual tradition. After prom, Dean and Castiel made it as far as the lake before Castiel jumped on his boyfriend’s lap and they tumbled into the backseat for two very good rounds of sex.

Afterwards, lying in the backseat while Dean carded a hand through his hair, Cas thought he’d never been so happy.

“Now aren’t you glad you listened to your mother?” Castiel teased.

Dean made a face. “Please don’t talk about my mom while we’re naked, Cas.”

“But you had fun, right?” Cas pressed, needing to be sure.

“I always have fun with you, Cas,” Dean said, kissing his temple. “You know that.”

“I wish we could just stay like this forever,” Cas murmured, feeling his eyelids start to droop. “I never want this to change.”

“It won’t,” Dean promised. “You’re gonna be stuck with me forever, Cas. Never should have said ‘yes’ when I asked you to marry me.”

Castiel smiled, remembering that day. “I forgot, you’re not my boyfriend, you’re my fiancé.”

Dean’s hand abruptly stilled, fingers still tangled in Cas’s hair. “Fiancée,” he repeated.

“Hey, you’re the one who proposed to me,” Cas said. “No take-backs.”

“So let’s go,” Dean said.

“Go where?” Cas asked, tucking himself more tightly along Dean’s side.

“Let’s get married,” Dean said.

Cas wanted to laugh, to smack Dean’s shoulder and tell him to stop messing around, but he couldn’t breathe. He opened his eyes and found Dean grinning down at him, eyes bright.

“What?” he asked stupidly.

Dean leaned down so that his lips were brushing Cas’s. “Let’s drive to Iowa and get hitched. Dean and Castiel Winchester.”

“Why don’t you take my last name?” Castiel asked.

Dean smirked. “Mine’s manlier.”

“Dean, we can’t just—”

“Of course we can,” Dean interrupted. “Cas, we can do anything we want to. We’re both eighteen and you’re going to art school soon. We should do it now—Mom and Dad’ll be mad they missed it, and Sammy’ll cry about it, but they’ll throw us the party, and then everybody’ll know you’re mine—”

“What am I, a piece of property?”

“And we’ll always be together.”

##### VII. Anna

Anna had been surprised to see Castiel, but she’d hidden it well. Her jaw had dropped at the sight of her younger brother on her porch, but she’d recovered after only a second.

“Castiel!” she exclaims, pulling him into a hug. “What are you doing here, what’s wrong?”

He shouldn’t be surprised that his presence inevitably heralds bad news in his sister’s mind. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just in town for a visit.”

Anna raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Sure, like I believe that. Come on in, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Congratulations on your engagement,” she calls out over one shoulder, as he follows her down the hallway.

“Thank you.”

“Sit,” she says, pushing him into a kitchen chair and pulling out a beat-up old coffee pot. What looks like hospitality is really just an excuse for his sister to indulge her caffeine addiction. Castiel smiles at how little Anna has changed.

“So what’s he like?”

“What? Who?”

Anna tuts impatiently. “Your fiancé, stupid. Who do you think?”

"He’s…very nice,” Castiel says. “I’m sure the paper had a thorough description of him.”

“‘Very nice’? That’s certainly a ringing endorsement.”

“He’s a good person,” Castiel says defensively. “Balthazar works for a not for profit, we met at my gallery.”

“As long as you’re happy, Castiel,” Anna says, staring at him as though she can read the truth in his eyes, if only she looks deep enough. “Does he make you happy?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies, swallowing around a lump in his throat as he remembers the last time Anna had asked him that same question.

“Then I’m glad for you,” his sister says, clasping his hands briefly before she rises. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing in Lawrence? You could have just called or emailed.”

“I need copies of mine and our parent’s records,” Castiel says smoothly, the lie rolling off his tongue. “I left without anything I need to apply for a marriage license.”

“Really?” Anna asks. “Because I could have sworn that you need to divorce your first husband before they let you marry the second.”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to gape at his sibling in shock. “What?”

Anna turns to him, raising an eyebrow tartly. “Do I look like I was born yesterday? You hopped on a Greyhound without a moment’s notice. As if you had the time to get a divorce before you left.”

“How do you know I didn’t file for one after I got to New York?”

“Because Dean Winchester is a stubborn son of a bitch who’d cut off his nose to spite his face, and making you miserable has probably been his number one goal these last seven years.” She smiles at Castiel. “He is my brother-in-law, you know.”

“Do you think other people know?” Castiel asks. All of his dreams of containment are slowly evaporating again. He wonders how many percentage points the mayor will lost when word gets out that her future son-in-law is a bigamist from Kansas.

“Well, I don’t think that Dean or the Winchesters exactly advertise it,” Anna says dryly, setting two coffee cups down on the table before taking a seat. “Unless someone goes looking for at the county records, you should be fine. The real question, though, is how you’re going to make Dean sign those papers.”

Castiel sighs. “He said if I visited my family—”

Anna laughs. “Like that’s the only hoop he’ll make you jump through.”

Castiel sips his coffee glumly. “I don’t know what else he wants from me.”

“Probably to make you suffer for as long as possible,” Anna says, patting Castiel’s hand as he glares at her. “You could try seducing him.”

Castiel shoves Anna’s hand away, grimacing. “That’s disgusting.”

“Hey, he’s your husband,” Anna says, laughing.

##### VIII. After Prom

“You did what,” John said flatly. Castiel had never been afraid of Dean’s father—it was hard to be intimidated once you’d seen a man cry over “The Notebook” while clutching his wife’s hand—but the tone of his voice and the way he was crumpling a paper coffee cup like it was made of tissue were making Cas reconsider.

“We got hitched,” Dean said, raising their clasped hands in the air, like Castiel was a prizefighter who just won the title match. “About six hours ago. Does that make this our honeymoon?” he asked Cas, smiling.

Cas couldn’t help but grin back at his—husband, his mind helpfully supplied, after a moment’s stutter. “I don’t think it starts until we want it to.”

There was a moment of shocked silence in the kitchen. Castiel’s mind was already racing, even while he took in Dean’s beaming face—they would have to tell his parents, next, and file for a civil union—and just like that, the dam broke, as Sam let out a whoop and flung his arms around his brother, laughing. Mary was crying, but she was smiling at the same time, and John didn’t even seem to notice that there was coffee spilling all over his hand while he looked around the kitchen like he couldn’t figure out what was going on.

“You’re crazy, I can’t believe it, Cas, how could you let him talk you into this,” Sam said, words spilling over each other in his excitement.

“Hey,” Dean said, feigning offense. “How do you know Cas isn’t the one who asked me?”

“Oh, honey,” Mary said, reaching out to pull Cas into an embrace. “Only you would do something like elope on prom night. Cas is too sensible for that.”

“He agreed!” Dean cried with mock outrage. “Come on, Dad, back me up here.”

Castiel had been carefully avoiding looking at John while he accepted hugs and, ‘You’re my brother now, too!’ from Sam, but now he forced himself to turn to his father-in-law. He was waiting for John to say, “This was a terrible idea.” Or, “Get out of my house.” Maybe even, “Get away from my son and never come back.” Even Dean looked nervous, the grip of his hand signaling all his anxiety to Cas.

John cleared his throat. Here it comes, Cas thought miserably, before John said, “Dean, only you could come up with an idea like this. We all know Cas is too smart for that.” He stepped forward and dragged Dean into a firm hug. “Congratulations. And congratulations to you, too, Cas,” he said, over Dean’s shoulder.

“You’re not mad?” Castiel couldn’t help but ask. Dean, pulling away from his father, rolled his eyes.

“Only you would follow up a moment like this with a question like that, Cas.”

“I’m mad,” Mary chimed in, and everyone turned to look at her in surprise. “Dean Winchester, how could you deprive your mother the chance to plan your wedding.”

“Mom,” Dean said, sounding exasperated. “Come on, even if we got married here, you and Cas and I would hate some big party where we had to wear suits.”

“Too bad,” Mary said. “Mother of the groom says we’re having a party next weekend to celebrate. No arguing,” she said, holding up a finger to forestall their protests. “You know the whole family will want to come see you.”

“Don’t invite Christian!” Dean said. “He’s a dick, I don’t want him at our wedding.”

“He’s your cousin and he’s coming,” Mary countered. At Dean’s crestfallen expression, she added, “But I’ll seat him far away from you.”

“Can I be best man?” Sam piped up, sounding ecstatic.

Dean smiled at him. “Of course, kiddo. Um,” he added quickly, “unless you want to ask one of your brothers, Cas? To be the…second best man?”

Castiel smiled at Sam, whose face had dimmed at the question. “I would be honored if you would be our best man, Sam. Besides,” he added in an undertone, “I doubt any of my brothers would be interested.”

Dean’s face darkened at that, but Mary clapped her hands together once and everyone fell silent. “That’s settled. Next Saturday, our first official party celebrating Castiel and Dean—”

“Winchester,” Dean interrupted, sounding smug. “Cas took my last name.”

Cas flushed a little at Dean’s proprietary tone. Sam frowned.

“Cas doesn’t have to take your name, you know. That’s a very antiquated system—”

“All right, bookworm,” Dean said, cutting his brother off while John and Mary laughed. “Anyway, we talked about it, Cas wanted to. Right?” he asked, nudging Castiel in the ribs.

Cas actually hadn’t been sure—mainly because changing his name seemed like a big hassle—but Dean had promised to try a whole bunch of new stuff in bed and it seemed like a pretty good trade-off. He didn’t say any of that, mostly because he didn’t want John to have a heart attack.

Instead, he told the others what he’d told the clerk. “You’ve always treated me like your own, ever since I was little. I just thought—well, now it’s really like I’m part of the family.”

Castiel was alarmed to see that John, Mary, and Sam were all crying. He started to tell them not to, that he was glad to be a Winchester, but Dean grabbed Cas and kissed him so hard and for so long that Cas was light-headed when they parted. Mary let out a wolf-whistle that made them both blush.

“Alright, guys, let’s keep it PG,” John said, looking a little alarmed.

Dean grinned. “No worries, Dad. We have to go tell Cas’s family, anyway.” He grabbed Castiel’s hand and started pulling him out the door. “Come on, the sooner we finish this, the sooner we can celebrate.”

“We already celebrated in the car,” Castiel protested, as Sam mimed gagging and Mary laughed. “Goodbye, John, Mary, Sam. We’ll be back later.”

“Home,” Dean corrected, as he and Cas headed out the front door. “We’ll be home later.”

##### IX. John and Mary Winchester

When Castiel gets back to the house—Dean’s house—Dean is gone. Castiel really shouldn’t be surprised that Dean is acting like a child and dragging this whole debacle out to torture Castiel, but he’s been mistakenly hoping that, sometime in the last seven years, Dean has grown up. His absence means that Castiel has no such luck.

Castiel debates. He’s very good at it, doesn’t even need a legal pad full of pros and cons to analyze the situation. He can fly back to New York, tell his lawyer that he needs to sue someone for divorce. The story will undoubtedly make the papers, cause a huge fuss, and might even cause Balthazar to break up with his. No good.

He can probably get his hands on a gun and threaten to shoot Dean if he won’t sign the papers. Also no good, because Castiel doesn’t want to go to jail for murder and Dean will probably call his bluff.

The problem is that the equation is missing an essential variable: what Dean wants. Castiel’s gone to see his family, just like Dean asked, but there’s almost certainly more to Dean’s plan than just that. Until Castiel knows what Dean really wants, though, there’s nothing he can do.

Castiel thinks about staying at the house until Dean gets back, but he has a feeling it won’t be any time soon, just to spite Castiel. Dean had pulled this trick plenty of times when they were married—first married. He and Cas would fight over some stupid thing, like Cas’ friends or Dean’s attitude, and Dean would disappear for hours at a time, knowing that Cas would be sitting up and waiting for him to get home.

Those days are long gone. Castiel doesn’t have to sit around waiting for anyone anymore.

Castiel is pushing a shopping cart down the freezer aisle when he hears a familiar voice that makes him stop in his tracks. Mary Winchester is laughing at something, just an aisle or two away from her son-in-law. Castiel stands stock-still, trying to decide which direction to go, feeling pulled left and right while his feet stay exactly where they are.

His in-laws round the corner and pull up sharply when they see Castiel behind his cart. They look as shell-shocked as Castiel feels, but they recover first, with Mary rushing over to him.

“Cas?” Mary asks, sounding unsure, like maybe she’s seeing her son-in-law’s doppelganger at the supermarket.

Castiel manager what he knows is a weak smile. “Hello, Mrs. Winchester.”

“Oh my god, it is you,” she says, stepping around his groceries to pull him into a hug. “For a second, I wasn’t sure, you look so different.” Her perfume is the same one she wore ten years ago.

Mary holds onto him tightly and, when she pulls aways, Castiel is shocked to see tears in her eyes. “Hi, Cas.”

“Hi,” he says, feeling dazed. “Hello, Mr. Winchester.”

John only nods at Castiel, not moving closer. Mary frowns at him but stays close to Castiel. “What are you doing in Lawrence? Is everything alright?”

He tries again to smile, but it’s a lost cause. “Everything is fine. I have a few legal matters to deal with here.”

Mary’s gaze is sharp. “I thought you might. But Dean didn’t mention that you were here—does he know?”

Castiel nods. “I saw him this morning. I’m not surprised that he didn’t share the news.”

“Are you planning on staying?” John asks, surveying the two frozen dinners in Castiel’s shopping cart.

“That depends on how long it takes to finish things with the lawyer. I’ll probably fly out tomorrow.” He forces himself to laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll be out of everyone’s hair soon.”

John smiles awkwardly, but Mary looks upset. “Don’t talk about yourself like that, Cas, I’m sure everyone is glad to see you. Have you seen Anna or Gabriel yet?”

“Both,” Castiel replies. He doesn’t want to touch Mary’s other comment with a ten-foot pole, kind as it was of her to lie. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to run—”

“What are you doing for dinner?” Mary interrupts. John coughs, rather loudly, at the question, but Mary silences him with a pointed glare. “You should come over, Cas—”

“I can’t,” Castiel says, sounding panicked even to his own ears. “I have—a lot of work to do while I’m here. Thank you for the invitation—”

“Tomorrow night, then. We’re having a party, Sam just got engaged.”

“Congratulations, I’m happy to hear that,” Castiel says. He’s even telling the truth—Sam Winchester was a great kid, he deserves to be happy. “But I don’t think that would be appropriate—”

“I agree with him, Mary—”

“Hush,” Mary says, and Castiel and John both obey instantly. Apparently Mary Winchester’s word is still law around Lawrence. “Sam would be very happy to see you, Cas. Please consider it. We’ll be at Ellen’s, starting around seven.”

“Okay,” Castiel says, not even sure why he’s agreeing. “If I’m still here, I’ll try to make it.”

“Good,” Mary says, reaching up one hand to cup Castiel’s cheek gently. “It’s very nice to see you again, Cas.”

“Likewise,” Castiel says quietly, trying not to lean into the touch. He half-waves as the Winchesters depart.

##### X. College

_At college in Topeka, Dean and Cas have lots of problems (e.g., fixing clogged plumbing, dealing with ants) because neither one of them knows what the fuck they’re doing and they’re away from their parents for the first time. Cas makes new friends at school, which Dean hates, because he thinks they all look down on him for being a mechanic/not going to college. As a preemptive strike, Dean plays up his “hick” card whenever Cas’ friends are over/they go out together, which makes them treat Dean like he’s dumb, which just reinforces his point. Dean and Cas fight all the time._

##### XI. Castiel in Lawrence

When Castiel arrives at Dean’s house the next morning, the other man is still nowhere to be found. Castiel, his hands full of coffee and pastries (a peace offering—Dean could never resist pie from Jaybird), quashes the urge to throw everything to the ground and start stamping his feet like a sulky child. It isn’t fair. All Castiel wants to do is get a divorce from this stupid marriage that should never have happened in the first place. All he wants to do is be able to move on with his life. It took him years to get over Dean—is the universe going to punish him forever over a teenage mistake?

It takes Castiel ten long minutes to curse Dean, himself, his family, Dean’s family, Lawrence, the world, and the universe, before his tantrum runs its course and he’s able to calm down. It’s just a momentary roadblock. Soon, he’ll be over this hurdle and happily planning his wedding to Balthazar. It’s not that serious.

Castiel sets breakfast on top of the porch table before grabbing the spare key from the yard and letting himself in, grabbing the food on the way. He resists the urge to put on a pair of gloves and stop cleaning, choosing instead to grab his coffee and wander around the house instead.

Castiel is surprised at how little has changed. Most of the kitchen appliances are new, but the tablecloth and the placemats are the same one Mary had given them when Dean and Castiel moved in. The television is the only new addition in the living room. At first glance, everything in the dining room seems the same but then Castiel notices some new things in the china closet. The whole place is familiar enough that Castiel bets he could walk around in the dark without a single misstep. Considering that Castiel has completely redecorated his apartment at least five times in the last seven years, the unchanging nature of Dean’s house makes him feel like he’s stepped back in time to 2011. It’s a disquieting feeling.

Castiel doesn’t go into Dean’s bedroom. He doesn’t want to know what it looks like now.

With nothing else to do, Castiel sits down on the couch to wait for Dean to return. He has to come back eventually. To pass the time, Castiel picks up a battered photo album (he vaguely remembers it as a wedding gift—from Mark? Castiel isn’t sure) and starts leafing through it. He expects to find a trail of Dean’s last seven years, maybe even something that he can use to encourage Dean to sign the papers, like photos of a new beau.

What he doesn’t expect is an album full of Dean and Castiel.

##### XII. Breaking up

_Dean and Cas break up at college. Castiel gets on a Greyhound to New York, where he’s been offered a scholarship to Parsons School of Design._

##### XIII. Ellen’s

“I’m surprised you caught him at home, actually,” Ellen says, collecting empty coffee mugs from the counter.

“Why is that?” Castiel asks, only half paying attention as he thought about what to say to Dean.

“Well, he spends most of his time over at Lisa Braeden’s place, over on Mulberry.”

“Lisa Braeden?” Castiel echoes. Dean had spent time with her after one of their last blowouts, not long before Castiel left Lawrence.

“Sure, her little boy loves Dean. It’s good of him to help look after the kid, you know how Dean is about children.”

A horrible thought was starting to form in Castiel’s head and he couldn’t banish it. It was a thought shaped like their empty bed, the three days Dean had been gone. “How old is her son?”

“Ben’s just around seven. He’s a great kid; Dean brings him in for breakfast sometimes. He’s a real chatterbox.”

“Just like Dean was,” Castiel says, without thinking. Dean had always been loud and rambunctious, Castiel’s opposite in so many ways.

“Guess that’s why they get on,” Ellen says, turning away to dump all the dirty dishes into a basket.

Castiel doesn’t really remember the ride to Dean’s. There couldn’t have been traffic, because he made the trip in under five minutes and he was banging on Dean’s door before he even stopped to think about what he was doing.

“Twice in 24 hours? Careful, Cas, you’re going to give a guy ideas—”

“Are you Ben Braeden’s father?” Castiel asks, before Dean can finish his smart aleck remark. Dean’s mouth snaps shuts and he looks surprised.

“Where’d you get that idea from?”

“It’s not hard to figure out,” Castiel snaps, pushing his way into the house. Now, when he looks around, he doesn’t see a home in disarray due to Dean’s laziness but rather, his absence. “Is that what you practically live over there, to spend time with your child?”

Dean nods. “Ellen. Figures she wouldn’t think to keep quiet around an outsider.”

“I grew up here,” Castiel says, trying not to shout. He can’t tell if he’s successful or not. “Two blocks away from you, so stop acting like I don’t belong here.”

“You don’t belong here, Cas. You hate it here and when you left, you swore you would never come back. You have no right to storm in here and ask questions about my life.”

“If you fucked her while we were still married, then it’s absolutely my business,” Castiel says, smiling a little when he sees Dean flinch at his language. “If you had a child with somebody else while I was still your husband, then I have every right to ask.”

“And how many people have you slept with since you left? We’re still married, every time you’re with your boyfriend, you’re cheating. You don’t see me blowing up over it.”

“It’s not the same thing and you know it, Dean. We were still living together—”

“You threw me out—”

“I threw you out once a week back then!” Now he’s definitely shouting. So is Dean. “Just tell me the truth.”

It hurts to think about. Dean had probably slept with a hundred girls over the years. He had always said that Castiel was the only person who mattered to him. Obviously it wasn’t true, if he’d been living with someone else for years and raising a kid with her. And it shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t mean a thing to Castiel, who’d left Dean and their marriage and Lawrence behind so long ago. To Castiel, who had dated other guys in the last eight years and who was now engaged to somebody else.

But it did matter.

“No,” Dean says, pulling Castiel from his thoughts. He’d moved to face the window that overlooked the yard. “I’m not telling you anything.”

Castiel starts to protest, but Dean turns to face him. The expression on his face is thunderous. “And if I hear that you’ve asked anybody in town about Lisa and Ben, those divorce papers are going to be the least of your problems. Now get out of my house.”

Castiel leaves.

##### XIV. Cas arrives in New York

Cas thought that it was a good sign of how absolutely pathetic he was that it had taken all of three days for the Starbucks cashier to memorize his order. He would have guessed that a New Yorker working on the corner of 14th Street and 6th Avenue had a plethora of customers more memorable than he, but apparently his red-rimmed eyes and Midwestern accent made him enough of an oddity to deserve the attention.

“Trenta cappuccino?” the petite barista called out from the other side of a massive espresso machine. When he’d first come in, Cas had picked the biggest cup of coffee he could see, hoping to drown in it. His plan hadn’t worked, but the drink had been good enough to ensure that he was back, day after day.

“Yes, thank you,” Cas said, reaching for the cup. Before he could grab it, the barista yanked it back and fixed Cas with a steely glare. Coming from someone who was 5’2” tall, it shouldn’t have been intimidating, but Cas felt cowed nonetheless.

“Listen,” she began. “Whoever is making you cry like that, they aren’t worth it.”

Cas had only a second to feel baffled that a perfect stranger thought it was appropriate to give customers romantic advice. “It isn’t—”

“Oh, I supposed you have really bad allergies? In the middle of December? Or you’ve been cooking with onions for the last week? Give me a break.”

“It’s really none—”

“—of my business, yeah, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, I know. But my co-workers are going to stage an intervention the next time your lip starts trembling while you order, so.”

“My lips do not tremble!” Cas said indignantly. “And not that it’s anyone’s business, but I just got here—”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“—and whatever I am—or am not—going through is no concern of yours!” He stopped, realizing his hands were shaking. “Please give me my coffee.”

“He has a spine!” the barista crowed. Cas momentarily considered flinging a container of straws at her smug face. “Look, just promise me your boyfriend isn’t beating you so I can reassure everyone that you’re not a fragile angel in need of rescuing.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Cas said, with as much dignity as he could muster when he felt like crying. “Now give me my coffee before I report you to your supervisor.”

The barista stared at him for a second longer before placing his cappuccino (probably cold now) on the counter. She just managed to get her hand out of the way before he snatched his cup up. Cas took a sip of his perfectly-steamed drink, forcing himself not to move just to show the barista that he was was fine, nothing was wrong, he was just a man enjoying a really excellent cup of coffee in Manhattan—

To his surprise, the barista grinned and stuck out her hand. “I’m Ruby.”

Castiel momentarily considered ignoring the hand, turning away snootily, or leaving all together, but years of his parents hammering in manners left him with no choice. “Cas. I mean, Castiel,” he replied, reaching out to shake a hand covered in blisters and calluses.

“Well, welcome to New York, Castiel. Don’t worry, if you can put up with my hazing, the rest of the city will be a piece of cake.”

Somehow, Castiel doubted that.

##### XV. Sam’s Party

_At the local diner/bar, which is owned by Ellen. This is where Dean and Castiel start to make up._

“Says the guy who once had a faux hawk,” Castiel adds dryly.

Dean makes a face that most closely resembles a pout. “I looked cool.”

“You looked like an idiot,” Castiel corrects. “And I told you as much, both before and after the fact.”

_Dean and Castiel slow dance to Adele’s “One and Only,” since they never got a chance to dance at their own wedding/reception._

“Cas,” Dean says, exasperated. “Would you just dance with me? It’s one stupid song—”

“If it’s so stupid, I don’t see why we should be dancing,” Cas grumbles, but he lets Dean pull him onto the dance floor, wrap his arms around Cas’ body. It feels familiar and safe, in a way that it shouldn’t, after so many years apart. Dean smells exactly the same. Cas buries his face against Dean’s neck and holds on as the music starts.

...

“Nobody’s perfect, Cas,” Dean says hoarsely. “But I swear, I’m trying.”

_And of course, Balthazar shows up at the very end and interrupts the dance._

##### XVI. Cas meets Balthazar

_A snapshot of Cas (now Castiel) meeting Balthazar, being reluctantly charmed, dating, and falling in love, even as Castiel’s professional star is on the rise in the New York art scene._

##### XVII. Balthazar in Kansas with Castiel

_Balthazar wants to see where Castiel grew up. They decide to just get married in Lawrence, since Castiel’s family is there/charming small town/etc. Castiel does his damnedest to keep Balthazar from finding out the truth about Dean. The night before the wedding, Dean shows up at the hotel and gives Castiel the signed divorce papers. Castiel tries to have sex with Dean, because repressed feelings much, only for Dean to stop him, because he doesn’t want Cas to do something he regrets._

“Cas,” Dean says quietly. Castiel jumps; once upon a time, Dean had always been the loudest person in a room, unable to enter or exit without making a scene. Castiel can’t understand how someone could have changed so much in seven years and, at the same time, not changed at all.

It scares him, this new Dean Winchester: Lawrence Police Department Officer Dean Winchester. It scares him to think that there are things about Dean that he doesn't know, not any more.

...

“Nobody finds their soulmate when they're ten,” Dean says with a smile. “I mean, where's the fun in that, right?"

##### XVIII. The Proposal

The proposal, while a surprise, was not really unexpected. Castiel and Balthazar had been dating for the better part of two years: they shared an apartment, had settled into a comfortable routine, and were already viewed as a married couple by all their friends. Since Castiel’s first marriage had been—frankly put—a disaster, he had no problem with Rachel calling him a boring trophy wife. It was a relief, actually, being in a functional relationship for once.

Because Balthazar was the dramatic type (he’d done community theater, before going into NFPs), the entire affair had been big, loud, and emphatic. Right before the dessert course, Balthazar had pulled out his chair, dropped to one knee, and (in view of the entire restaurant, naturally) pulled out a black velvet jewelry box.

“Castiel, darling,” he began, once the shocked gasps from the other diners had faded. “I know we aren’t the most traditional of couples, but I do hope you know how very much I adore you. Would you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

Castiel’s heart, which had dropped into his shoes the minute Balthazar had knelt, was slowly beginning to rise. He managed what he knew was a weak smile (he hated being singled out in public) and said, simply, “Yes.” The whole room had erupted in cheers as Balthazar grinned, standing up and pulling Castiel in for a kiss. He hated public displays of affection almost as much as he hated everyone’s eyes on him but, for once, it wasn’t that bad.

Balthazar pulled away, and his eyes were a little wet. “Thank you. I know you hate crowds, but I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted everyone to know.”

Castiel smiled, stronger this time. “I know. We’ll have to have the ceremony somewhere else, you know.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Let’s not worry about details tonight, darling, let’s just celebrate.”

They did celebrate, several times and fairly loudly, but Castiel couldn’t help but start a mental checklist. Number one was returning to Kansas and getting his long-overdue divorce.

##### XIX. The Wedding

_It’s the wedding of the century in Lawrence and everyone is invited. Because both of Castiel’s parents are dead, it’s Mary that Castiel has a heart to heart with before the ceremony starts. She tells him that Dean followed him to New York but let him go, thinking that he could never make Cas happy._

“He came back and it was like all the fight had gone out of him. He said he knew he’d never be able to compete with all of it. How could you want some poor, country mechanic when you had all of New York at your feet?”

Castiel swallows around a lump in his throat. “I didn’t want all of New York. I wanted Dean back. And I didn’t think—I thought my chance was gone.”

_Right before Castiel and Balthazar exchange vows, Castiel’s lawyer arrives (let’s make him Chuck) to let Castiel know that only Dean signed the papers; Castiel never did._

“Balthazar, the truth is I gave my heart away a long time ago.” Cas takes a deep breath. “My whole heart, and I never really got it back.”

##### XX. Dean and Cas as kids

“Hey, Cas, I have a great idea.”

Dean was the only person who called Castiel by a nickname (except for his brothers, but those nicknames were mean). Cas didn’t mind.

“What, Dean?”

“Let’s get married.”

Cas stopped watching a grasshopper try and make his way across the field and looked up at Dean. The other boy was grinning, but he looked nervous, the way Dean always did when he had to explain to Mr. and Mrs. Winchester why they had come home so late from the park.

“Why would you want to do that?”

Dean shrugged, but the nervous look faded a little. “It’d be fun. We’d live in the same house and you wouldn’t have to leave at bedtime. You could stay with me and we could watch movies all night.”

Cas thought about that. It did sound like fun. “But being married means you have to do other stuff, too, like pay bills and clean the house.”

Dean waved one hand dismissively. “That’s stuff all grown-ups have to do, even if they’re not married. Uncle Bobby always complains about ‘paying the damn mortgage.’” Dean had lowered his voice and growled, trying to impersonate his uncle. “If we were married, at least we could do that stuff together. Besides, I bet if I asked my mom, she’d clean for us.”

Marrying Dean was starting to sound like a good idea.

“What made you think about getting married?” Cas asked. It was what his mother always did, asked his father questions about stuff. He thought it might be good practice for being married.

The nervous look came back to Dean’s face, and he rubbed the back of his neck. That was a sign that Dean was embarrassed. He’d done the same thing when admitting to Castiel that he still slept with a nightlight.

“I told you already, Cas, I think it’d be fun.”

“No,” Cas said stubbornly. His parents called it ‘digging in his heels.’ “That’s not the only thing.”

“You’re my best friend, Cas, isn’t that enough?”

“No,” Cas repeated, sure that he was onto something. “You can marry anybody you want to; so why do you want to marry me for?”

Dean looked down at the floor, and Cas was surprised to see that the other boy was blushing. He almost started to say, ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,’ but then Dean looked up and now he had a stubborn look in his eyes.

“So I can kiss you anytime I want to,” Dean said, looking Cas right in the eye, even as his neck turned red.

Cas couldn’t do anything for a minute but gape at Dean. “Why do you want to kiss me?” he asked, when his brain finally started working again.

Dean’s cheeks started to turn red, but he continued. “’Cause you’re my best friend and I heard Meg Masters at school talking about how she wanted to kiss you, but I don’t want you to kiss anybody except for me,” he said in a rush, speaking so quickly that Cas could barely understand him.

Castiel blinked a few times. He still didn’t get it. “But Dean, maybe you won’t like kissing me. Maybe you want to kiss Meg instead.”

Instead of answering, Dean stepped forward and kissed Castiel on the lips. It was just a peck, the way his parents kissed goodbye every morning. Dean’s lips were dry, but soft, and his eyes were closed, but Castiel was so surprised that he didn’t even blink. After a few second, Dean pulled away.

“Did—did you like it?” Dean asked nervously. He hadn’t stepped back, so Cas was close enough to count his eyelashes. He thought about it. The kiss hadn’t lasted long enough for Cas to really feel anything about it. He imagined kissing Meg Masters instead, and the warm feeling in his chest faded. He didn’t think he would like kissing anyone except for Dean.

“Yes,” Cas answered, and Dean beamed. He grabbed Cas and pulled him into a hug. Cas thought about how sad Dean might have been if he’d said ‘no,’ and he decided he didn’t ever want to make Dean feel bad.

“So we can get married?” Dean asked, his voice muffled as he pressed his face against Cas’s neck.

“Yes,” Cas said. “We can get married.”

##### XXI. Happy Ending in Lawrence

_Cas goes after Dean, the only person in Lawrence who wasn’t at the wedding. He finds Dean drinking alone at the house, their house, and finally admits to Dean (and himself) that he’s still in love with Dean and always has been._

“You're the first boy I ever kissed, Dean, and I want you to be the last.”

_Dean rejects Cas at first, trying to protect what's left of his broken heart, but after Cas leaves, he realizes what a mistake it would be to let Cas go again and runs after him._

“All this time, Cas?” Dean asks, and he’s breathless, panting, hands on his knees. He’s the most beautiful thing Cas has ever seen.

“How could I not know,” Cas murmurs, grabbing Dean and pulling him upright. Dean has time only to grin before Cas kisses him breathless all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 05/04/2011: "AKA the "Sweet Home Alabama” AU that I am resolutely not writing. Someone had a screen cap of Melanie and Jake as little kids on [tumblr] last week, and the minute someone said, “Where’s the Dean/Cas version?” my brain went there."
> 
> I am romcom trash, in case you couldn't tell from the other chapters, and I'm not sorry. My proposed soundtrack to this was literally just two John Mayer songs ("Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" and "All We Ever Do is Say Goodbye") and two Taylor Swift songs ("The Way I Loved You" and "Speak Now"). 
> 
> Thankfully, I created a super in-depth outline for this (actually...I made three), so I know exactly where I wanted to go with this story. There are about four or five unfinished sections, all denoted in italics, but I threw in whatever little snippets I did draft for those sections.
> 
> Relationship(s): Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Balthazar, implied Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden
> 
> Warnings: This story tracks very closely with the movie, so all warnings inherent in that. Language. Off-screen sex between two characters (Dean and Castiel) who are both 18 with the implication that they have had sex in the past. References to infidelity on Dean's part in the past (with Lisa Braeden). Since Dean and Castiel are still married, but separated, at the time this story starts, both of them have technically cheated on the other over the course of the previous seven years. Please let me know if you would like more specific warnings.


	7. SPN: 10 Things I Hate About You AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sam can’t date until Dean, the “snarky man bitch of the school” does. Gabriel and Crowley co-conspire to convince rich asshole Lucifer to pay mysterious Castiel to date Dean. Brady is Sam’s air-headed friend with his own designs on Lucifer. Jo is Dean’s only friend? John Winchester is the overprotective dad. Becky is Ms. Perky. Bobby is bitchy English teacher Mr. Morgan. Rufus is the detention teacher/soccer coach.”

### 10 Things I Hate About You AU

###### 1\. GABRIEL

###### 

Nine schools in ten years, and Gabriel Milton should be used to this by now. It doesn’t get easier but, then again, it’s not exactly like it was hard to begin with.

His dad is off, being in charge of the whole world or something, which leaves Gabriel to be shuffled from one mind-numbingly boring high school to another, whenever the nannies feel like it. Nothing ever changes, from one town to the next—just the pranks that Gabriel chooses to play on his selfish, sanctimonious, self-involved fellow classmates. He’s thinking about turning it into a game; just what percentage of the graduating class can he subtlety torture before upper management catches on? He’s still working on the details, but he thinks involving jello is a good first step.

“Mr. Milton,” the woman behind the desk says, interrupting his fantasies. The nameplate in front of her reads, “Rebecca Rosen. Secretary/Guidance Counselor.” Apparently, Lawrence High is small enough that one person can do both. Gabriel gives himself a month.

“Welcome to Kansas. It says here that you’re transferring from Muncie, Indiana?”

“Bad break-up, you know how it is,” Gabriel says, with an award-winning smile. Ms. Rosen doesn’t laugh.

“And before that, Wellington, Broward, and Springfield. You’ve certainly gotten around.”

“In more ways than one, sister.” Now she’s outright glaring. Shit, Gabriel clearly underestimated the effect of his charm. Maybe she’s a lesbian?

“Funny.” She grabs a stack of papers from on top of the desk. “Class schedule, map, list of relevant locations. There’s a student outside waiting to show you around.” Gabriel just sits there, waiting for her to say something else, but she doesn’t, and it quickly deteriorates into an awkward staring contest.

“Scoot!” Ms. Rosen says, flapping one hand at him. “I’ve got a waiting room full of delinquents to see and a J2 Big Bang fic to write. Out!” she adds, when Gabriel continues sitting, somewhat flabbergasted.

He grabs his bag and leaves, too startled (especially by that Bang thing, what the hell is that?) to even get a good one-liner off. It looks like Lawrence High might be a little different, after all.

Right outside the office, some kid dressed all in black is slouched against the wall, tapping away rapidly at a cell phone. “Gabriel Milton, I presume?” the guy says, not even looking up from his texts. He’s got a British accent which, combined with the ensemble, gives him a smarmy, James Bond vibe. “Crowley, I’ve been assigned as your high school liaison for the foreseeable future.”

“Lucky me,” Gabriel says, “Look, pal, this isn’t exactly my first time at the rodeo, so spare me the speeches. I’m pretty sure I can find a bathroom on my own.”

“Only ‘pretty sure’? Bit pathetic for a seventeen-year old who’s been to, what, nine schools in the last ten years?”

Gabriel fees himself flush. “How the hell did you know that?”

Crowley finally looks up from the phone, smirking at Gabriel as he slips it into his pocket. “Information is power. I’m not one for hand-holding, but I feel like our acquaintance could be mutually beneficial.”

“Is this the part where you tell me it’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship?”

“You don’t look the type to appreciate sweet-talking, so no.”

In all the schools he’s been to—all the towns, really—Gabriel’s never really found someone that he can go toe-to-toe with. He kinda likes it. And, hell, it’s not like he has anything to lose. A hundred bucks says he’s yanked from Lawrence before he even begins striking fear into the hearts of the general population.

“Deal,” Gabriel says. “What do you have for me?”

Crowley (no first name necessary or even offered) takes Gabriel on a tour of the school. He basically glosses over everything (“classrooms, bathrooms, principal, gym”) before leading Gabriel to the courtyard, the ‘nexus of all human activity at this school.’

“Jocks,” he says, pointing to where a bunch of buff guys are tossing a football around, “cheerleaders; art-house, foreign films geeks; smokers; _smokers_ ; Dungeons and Dragons nerds; eco-friendly tree-huggers; and future CEOs of America.” As they pass by the last group, all decked out in variations of ‘business casual,’ the students all turns their backs to Crowley. A few even sneer.

“What’s their problem?”

“Sodding idiots, the lot of them,” Crowley says, bitterly. “A week ago, I was their king.”

“They threw you out? Wow, shocker.” He hopes the sarcasm is evident.

From the look Crowley’s giving him, message: received. “Hostile takeover, in fact. Don’t worry, they’ll pay.”

Gabriel starts mentally reviewing his repertoire, wondering which of his greatest hits will have the most impact on the disloyal schmucks. He’s about to suggest planting suspicious substances (always a favorite) when he catches sight of—no joke—one of the most gorgeous guys he’s ever laid eyes on, and Gabriel grew up in Los Angeles, so that’s saying something. A heavenly choir doesn’t start playing in the background, but Gabe recognized that guy as an unearthly specimen anyway.

Crowley’s already walking away when Gabriel grabs his arm and drags him back. “Who’s that?”

Crowley squints irritably at the crowd. “Who? Be more specific, Dopey.”

Gabriel scowls. There’s practically a spotlight following the leggy brunet around. “Tall, gorgeous, three o’clock.”

Crowley searches the students, then smirks. “Oh, that moose? Sam Winchester, but don’t get any ideas.”

Sam Winchester. Gabriel indulges in some serious staring, because, come on. The guy is tall, lanky, and has a smile that could probably light up a room. Plus, those shoulders. The fact that he’s got several inches on Gabriel only adds to the appeal. So he likes tall guys. So sue him.

Crowley’s blathering on in the background, but Gabriel can’t stop staring as Sam laughs at the guy next to him, a blond that doesn’t even begin to compare. His legs start moving towards the other boy, with no conscious decision on his part, and Crowley has to race to catch up with him.

“Have you heard a word I’ve said? Look, I’ll admit he’s easy on the eyes—”

“It’s not just that,” Gabriel says, trying to move close enough to eavesdrop on Sam’s conversation.

“Yes, he’s beautiful and deep, I’m sure,” Crowley deadpans.

Another inch, and—

“And then I said, that debate performance was completely underwhelming. I mean, who chooses moral high ground to argue with?”

The blond nods. “Right? Hey, Sam, I know you can be overwhelmed and you can be underwhelmed, but do you think you can ever just be whelmed?”

Sam screws up his face a little. “I think you can in Europe.”

The two move out of earshot. Okay, so it wasn’t the most scintillating conversation Gabriel’s ever heard, but they’re in high school, it’s not like he expected a diatribe against the unfairness of corporate law.

“Seriously. Mate. Let this one go.”

“There’s more to him than you think,” Gabe insists, still watching as Sam exchanges high-fives with a bunch of the Birkenstock crowd. “Maybe he’s not the brightest bulb, but look at that smile. You’re missing it, but there’s something else there.”

Crowley snorts. “Whatever you say, lover boy. You still haven’t a snowball’s chance. Father’s very uptight, and the Winchesters don’t date.”

“I’ll figure something out.” He can’t stop staring. There’s something about Sam Winchester: the way he’s so comfortable in that oversized body (man, that body) of his; or maybe the way he smiles at everyone he passes; or the way they all stare adoringly at him. It’s been a while since Gabriel’s been interested enough in anyone to try, and he wants so much more than that, here.

“If you’re really that confident,” Crowley butts in, “I’ll give you the heads up. He’s looking for a French tutor.”

A game plan is rapidly beginning to form. “The language of love, perfect!”

“Fluent, are we?”

“Nope,” Gabe says, grinning. “Don’t know a word except, ‘Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?’”

“Perfect,” Crowley says. “Good luck charming Gigantor with that one.”

Their conversation is interrupted when someone slams on their horn, causing both boys to jump a foot in the air. Some guy sticks his head out the window of a classic car, looking murderous.

“Hey, idiots! Pull your heads out of your asses and get out of my way!” he yells at them. Beside him, a blonde girl is laughing hysterically, probably at the way Gabriel is clinging to—holding onto, he mentally corrects—Crowley. They scramble out of the way as the guy guns his engine and speeds away.

“Holy crap, what’s his problem?” Gabriel asks. He blames his jumpiness on the adrenaline rush.

“That, Farquad, was your boyfriend’s older brother. You certainly drew the short straw when it comes to in-laws.”

“That was Sam’s brother?”

“The one and only. Dean Winchester. Also known as ‘the snarky man bitch of Lawrence High,’ ‘that heinous bitch,’ and my personal favorite, ‘the Ice Queen.’ I would advise you to avoid his wrath at all costs.”

Gabriel is still trying to reconcile sunny, smiling Sam with…that guy. “How bad can he be?”

“Let’s see, today is Tuesday? I’ll have to introduce you to Gordon Walker, his testicle retrieval surgery was this morning.”

Gabriel’s jaw doesn’t drop. Much. “Are you saying—?”

Crowley shrugs. “Winchester senior still maintains that Walker kicked himself in the balls. Gordon has, wisely, chosen not to comment.”

Well, let it never be said that Gabriel Milton turns down a challenge. “That’s…cool,” he says, going for nonchalant. Judging by Crowley’s expression, he doesn’t quite get there.

“Like I said, neither of the Winchesters date. Dean, for obvious reasons. Sam, because his father is, shall we say, overprotective. So, good luck with that.”

“Trust me,” Gabriel says, with a bravado he’s not entirely feeling at the moment, “luck is one thing I do not need when it comes to love.”

“We’ll see about that,” Crowley says.

__

######  _INTERLUDE_

######  __

Dean Winchester is pretty sure he’s died and gone to Hell. He’s seen enough horror movies and slasher fics over the years to form a pretty vivid image of a fiery afterlife, but it’s nothing compared to Mr. Singer’s third-period English class. What it lacks in brimstone and three-headed dogs, it more than makes up for in cut-rate literature and stupid sons of bitches.

“Alright, settle down,” Mr. Singer says gruffly. “We’ve got a book to discuss and I have assignments to hand out. Who’s got something to say about Eliot?”

“I think ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’ is so romantic,” sighs Chastity. “The part with the mermaids? That was beautiful.”

Dean can’t stop himself from snorting. Not that he tries very hard. “You’re kidding, right? Jesus, Eliot’s stuff is so full of misogyny, I’d be surprised if some prostitute isn’t buried in his backyard.”

“At least he had company other than his right hand,” Lucifer says lazily, from his seat behind Dean. “Mr. Singer, isn’t there a way to make Dean take his Midol _before_ he comes to class?”

Dean rolls his eyes so hard, he’s amazed they don’t fall out of his head, not that the idiot can see him. “If you think this is bad, just wait until I—“

“Enough,” Mr. Singer says. “Pipe down, Satan. Winchester, go see Ms. Rosen.”

“Mr. Singer—” Dean starts, but he’s cut off by a finger, pointed at the door.

“Get out of my classroom, Winchester. I don’t get paid to referee pissing matches.”

Dean throws his book back into his bag, being sure to slam Lucifer’s shoulder—hard—as he leaves the room. He considers punching a wall on his way to Ms. Rosen’s, but his dad will kick his ass if he hurts his hand and can’t work. He settles for kicking a garbage can as he comes out of the stairwell.

The trouble started when Sam become a freshman. Okay, technically, the trouble started a hell of a lot earlier than that—when Mom died, back in 1983, or at the very least, when Dean entered ninth grade and made a series of questionable life choices. But all that was the kind of trouble he could handle—the kind he’d been dealing with his whole life. Sammy was another story.

Dean is glad that his brother’s popular; that Sam doesn’t have any trouble making friends; that no one calls him a bitter, self-righteous hag behind his back. He really is. But he also spends most of his time wanting to smack some sense into the kid. Sam made “dating a senior” one of his New Year’s resolutions. He spends more time reading Facebook than textbooks. And he’d rather work on his reputation than Mock Trial or the Mathletes or any of the other nerdy clubs Dean used to make fun of him for. It’s like Sam hit high school and decided that being popular was the whole point and he’s driving Dean up a wall with it. Dean spends all of his time worrying about Sam, and he can’t even explain why. Sam wouldn’t get it.

So Dean is stuck at Lawrence High, Hell on Earth, for at least another year while he scrambles to graduate and waits to hear back from colleges. He already knows how well that talk’ll go with his dad; it’s just one more in a long list of things Dean Winchester does not want to deal with.

All his musings bring him to Ms. Rosen’s office. She’s typing intently at her desk, and as Dean walks in, he hears her mutter, ‘Michael seduced Adam with whispered promises of paradise.’ Awkward.

“Ms. Rosen,” Dean says, flopping down into one of the two “guest” chairs. “Pleasure as always.”

“Mr. Winchester. Back again so soon?”

Dean smiles at her. “What can I say, I enjoy our quality time together.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I’m sure, Dean. I’m actually glad that you’re here. I’d like to discuss a few things with you.”

“Want to bounce some more ideas off of me? I’m not sure I like the alliteration of ‘promises’ and ‘paradise.’”

Ms. Rosen actually blushes at that. She can’t really yell at Dean, though, because he once busted her for writing incestuous, gay porn on a school computer, and he likes to pretend that it’s blackmail material. He would never turn her in, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“No,” she says pointedly. “I want to talk to you about your college paperwork. You were supposed to get a jump start on the FAFSA; did you have trouble completing it?”

“Not exactly, no.”

Ms. Rosen waits a second, then says, “Elaborate. And no bullshit, Dean.”

Dean’s so shocked by her cursing—out loud—that he blurts out, “I haven’t talked to my dad yet. About college.”

“Oh, Dean.” Ms. Rosen says, while he focuses on a spot just above her right shoulder. “You need to talk to your dad, eventually, unless you want to file as an independent. And I have to warn you, that’ll be more difficult in the long run.”

Dean swallows hard. “I know. I’ll get all my paperwork together. I just need a little longer, Ms. Rosen.”

Either Ms. Rosen is really good at reading faces or she’s still thinking about all the graphic sex acts that Dean’s had seared into his brain on account of her writing, because she just says, “Okay.” Then she perks up and asks, “So! Made any new friends lately?”

Shit, time to stop Ms. Rosen from thinking that they’ve had some kind of bonding moment here. Dean smirks. “I’d rather talk about whether Michael and Raphael ever made it past third base.”

“Out, Winchester!” Ms. Rosen says, pointing at the door. As he walks out, he hears her murmur, “As Michael slowly coaxed Adam around third base—no, that’s no good,” and has to smile.

###### 2\. SAM

###### 

All Sam Winchester wants—all he’s ever wanted—is to be like everyone else. To be normal. Dean might take pride in being an outcast at Lawrence High (he doesn’t even flinch when people refer to him as the biggest bitch in school), but Sam aches to fit in with all the other kids. For as long as he can remember, he’s been different. First, it was having no mom. Then, moving all over the country when he was little, living in a ratty motel or cheap apartment with his dad and Dean. When Dad had told them that he’d gotten a job in Lawrence and that they were going to move there—to buy a house—Sam had started crying. No one had understood that it was because he was so happy.

But no matter how hard he tries, Sam just keeps sticking out like a sore thumb. His first week at Lawrence High, Dean had come home with phone numbers, weekend plans—friends. He’d had this mildly stunned look on his face, like even he couldn’t believe that people liked him. This whole glorious future had opened up in front of Sam—Dean was smart, and funny, and now he was popular, too, and in three years, Sam would get to high school and people would already know all about him and he wouldn’t have to make awkward small talk with the other freshman and he wouldn’t have to make up lies about his past so that people wouldn’t think he was weird and everything would be awesome. Sam could have cried again, thinking about how perfect things would be, for a change.

And then everything had changed. Dean came home from school every day looking mad, or upset; he stopped hanging out with people on Saturdays or going to birthday parties; and he told Dad one day that he hated all the morons in Lawrence and he wished they were still on the road instead of living in this dumb, hick town.

The middle school kids didn’t really spend time with the high school kids, but Sam still heard people talk about Dean. People called his brother a dick, a bitch, a prude; Sam used to get sick when people would talk about his brother and say Dean was a friendless loser. Sam used every trick in the book to try and make Dean talk about what happened, about why people were being so mean, but all of sudden, there was a wall between Sam and his brother and he couldn’t break it down. The only thing Dean would ever say was that there was more to life than being popular and that he didn’t care about what anyone called him.

And then, Sam had a choice. He didn’t think about it like that at first, or for a long time afterward, but the first time Brady had said, “So what’s your brother’s problem?” and Sam had responded with, “I don’t know, he’s just really…weird,” it was over before he even knew it. Brady had laughed and said, “Good thing you’re nothing like that, I don’t hang out with losers,” and Sam had smiled and then he’d gone home and thrown up and he hadn’t looked Dean in the eye for a week.

Dean never said anything to Sam about it, but Sam knew that he knew. They still talked—they were still brothers—but every sentence out of Dean’s mouth started to be sarcastic or a put-down. He made Sam cry three times that first month without even realizing it. Dad tried to talk to Dean about his “attitude problem,” but Dean didn’t want to hear it. He’d stomp around the house after arguments before sneaking out his bedroom window and he’d blast Led Zeppelin from his speakers and he kept coming home with black eyes or bruised knuckles. People at school stopped making fun of Dean to his face, because they were scared of him, but everyone still called him names behind his back. When sophomore year started, Dean came back to school all muscled up, with a leather jacket and combat boots, and he was probably the biggest outcast Lawrence High had ever seen. People didn’t really talk to Sam about Dean all the time, but sometimes, someone would make a joke and Sam always laughed. Sometimes, he’d even be the one to say, “I think it’s his time of the month, guys, you’d better watch out,” and then everyone would laugh along with him, instead of at him, and then Sam could breathe again.

At the same time, Sam started making all these friends. Brady had lived in Lawrence his whole life and he knew everybody in middle school and half the kids in high school. People always wanted to hang out with them, especially girls. Brady said it was because they were the best-looking guys in school. Sam didn’t know if that was really true, but Brady was pretty cute and Sam was starting to get tall—like, really tall—and apparently girls liked that stuff. Nobody seemed to care that his brother was the infamous Dean Winchester. It was pretty flattering. He had Brady, and all their friends, and all these girls that Brady called “groupies” and everyone liked him and wanted to hang out with him and he was really happy.

When they started high school, Brady convinced him to stop going to all his academic clubs. Sam had actually been looking forward to the Debate Team and Mathletes—he wanted to be a lawyer someday, and math has so many practical applications—but Brady said they were going to be too busy for all of that.

“Busy with what?” Sam had asked.

“You think being the most popular guys in school is easy? Sam, it takes a lot of work. You’ll see.”

It was a lot of work. They joined the basketball team—because girls really liked jocks—but they really spent most of their time on the quad, hanging out. Now Brady knew all the kids in high school—all the ones worth knowing, anyway—and he introduced Sam to all of them. Sam had been worried—what could he possibly say to the seniors that wouldn’t seem stupid or childish?—but he realized quickly that no one wanted him to say anything smart or insightful. He was there to look good and make everyone else look good, and he could do that, it was easy.

The second day of high school, one of the seniors, this guy named Gordon Walker, had turned to Sam and said, “You’re Dean Winchester’s brother, right?”

Sam had frozen, and he hadn’t wanted to answer, but the others were turning to look at him and he couldn’t run away, he was a freshman now.

Yeah,” he admitted. “I am.”

Gordon clapped a hand on his shoulder. “That sucks, man. My sister’s a big loser, too. Happens to everyone, Sammy.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, because there wasn’t anything else he could do. The nickname made his ears burn. No one ever called him that except for Dean. “I prefer Sam, though.”

But after all that, there’s a problem, and the problem is this: Sam isn’t allowed to date. Not until he graduates from high school, at which point he might as well just shrivel up and die, because who’s going to want to date a college freshman that’s never even been on a date? Nobody, that’s who.

It’s not like Sam’s never been out with a girl or a guy, he has. But there’s a big difference between stopping off at a pizzeria with someone after school for an hour, and getting picked up at your front door by somebody—with a car—and having dinner with them or making out in the back of a movie theater. Nobody’s said anything yet, but Sam can tell that everyone’s wondering when he’s going to start dating somebody.

Sam’s had a few shouting matches with his dad about the stupid rule. Dad completely refuses to listen to reason, and when Dean starts making annoying comments in the background, Sam can never keep his head and remember his carefully constructed arguments. Dad won’t even explain why he’s so dead-set against him dating, just says that he’s not changing his mind. Brady’s parents let him do whatever he wants; Sam’s the only one in their circle who isn’t going anywhere.

He wants to be. And he knows with whom—Lucifer Westenra. He’s a senior, blond, filthy rich, and a member of one of the most prestigious families in all of Lawrence. He’s also a model. Sam’s pretty sure he couldn’t do better unless he were dating royalty. The best part is that Lucifer is interested in him, too. He’d given Sam and Brady a ride home and when they’d pulled up in front of the Winchester house, Lucifer had reached out a hand and cupped Sam’s chin, possessive. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Sam,” he’d said and Sam had shivered and nodded, stumbling over his long legs and mumbling, “Thanks for the ride,” as he left the car. When he’d reached the front door and snuck a look over his shoulder, Lucifer had still been parked in front of the house, just watching. Sam had blushed and waved, a little dorkily. He couldn’t help it.

Dean is lying on the couch, reading “Slaughterhouse Five” when Sam walks in. “Hi, short bus,” he calls out, as Sam crosses into the kitchen.

“Don’t call me that, it’s offensive,” Sam shoots back, rummaging through the fridge. There’s nothing that even resembles anything healthy. He settles for a scrawny-looking apple, hiding behind the bottles of beer and condiments.

“Your face is offensive, but I still have to put up with it,” Dean says, his words becoming clearer as Sam walks back into the living room. The mail is sitting on the table and the first thing that catches Sam’s eye is an oversized envelope, postmarked Rhode Island.

“Dean, what is this?” he asks, but his heart is already sinking. Sam knows exactly what it is, he isn’t stupid. Colleges only send things that big when it’s good news.

Dean had gotten up while Sam was staring at the envelope, and he snatches it out Sam’s hands, his eyes wide. “I don’t believe it,” he says, looking like the envelope might explode at any moment. “I don’t—” and then he’s ripping it open, scanning the first page, his whole face lighting up. “I’m in,” he whispers, and Sam hasn’t seen Dean look this happy since he was fifteen. “They accepted me, I’m in!” He pumps his fist in the air.

“You’re going to Brown? Do you know how far away that is?”

“Yeah, that’s a big part of the appeal.” Dean is already flipping through the rest of the materials, looking at papers about housing, financial aid, student service. Sam feels sick.

“Dad is never going to let you go.”

“Go where?” their dad asks, from the hallway. He’s wiping his hands on his jeans and looking from Sam to Dean.

Dean straightens up. Military posture, even though their dad still has a few inches on him. “Brown University. In Rhode Island.”

Dad frowns. “Dean, we’ve talked about this. I thought we’d decided you’d stay here, work at the garage, and take over when you’re older.”

“You decided, Dad,” Dean bites out. “I told you, I want to go to college. I don’t want to stay in Lawrence forever.”

“And how are you planning to afford it? We’re not exactly made of money, Dean.”

“I got a partial scholarship. I’ll work, take out loans, whatever I have to. I don’t care.”

Dad’s quiet for a minute. “Rhode Island? You couldn’t pick someplace further away?”

Dean’s quiet, too. “It’s a really good school, Dad. And yeah, it’s about as far from this town as I can get.”

“Good riddance,” Sam says, the words slipping out before he even thinks about it. Dad looks exasperated, but Dean—Dean looks pissed.

“Hey, Dad, ask Sam who drove him home today,” and Sam could just kill Dean.

“Dean, don’t change—who drove you home today, Sam?”

Sam needs to quickly come up with a plan of attack. It’s a good thing he took Debate Team to Regionals for all three years of middle school.

“Okay, Dad, so there’s this boy—”

Their dad groans. “Sam, I already know where this is going—”

“Let me finish, please,” Sam interrupts, determined to have his way this time. “There’s this boy—”

“Who’s a flaming imbecile,” Dean interjects from the couch, where he’s still clutching his envelope.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam snaps.

“Sam, stop,” Dad says. “I already know what you’re going to ask, and I already know the answer: no! What are the house rules?”

At times like this, it takes everything Sam has not to roll his eyes, stamp his foot, and sigh at the same time. “Dad,” he begins, but his father cuts him off before Sam can even get a word in about the delicacy needed to maintain a high school reputation.

“Number one, no dating until you graduate. Number two, no dating until you graduate!”

“Just like ‘Fight Club,’” Dean mutters absently, now looking at a brochure about on-campus activities.

“Dad, that is so unfair!” Sam says, choosing to ignore his totally useless, can’t-even-be-bothered-to-take-Sam’s-side-for- _once_ -brother. “I’m the only guy in school who isn’t dating.”

“No, you’re not,” Dad interrupts. “Your brother doesn’t date.”

“Yeah, and I don’t plan to,” Dean says, because he sucks and doesn’t even care if people in school call him a ‘snarky man bitch’ behind his back.

“Where do you even _come_ from?” Sam demands, finally getting frustrated. If Dean doesn’t want to help him, fine, but he doesn’t have to make things even harder for Sam. “What, Planet Loser?”

“Oh, as opposed to Planet ‘Look at Me, Look at Me,’” Dean scoffs, and Sam is preparing a really cutting remark about just how low Dean is on Lawrence High’s social ladder— _without even realizing it_ —when their dad cuts back in.

Boys. Boys! Stop fighting. New rule. Sam can date—”

“Yes!” Sam cries, pumping his fist in the air while Dean gives him the stink eye.

“—when Dean does.”

Sam feels his jaw drop at that. “What? But Dean’s a freak, what if he never dates?”

“Then you’ll never date.” Their dad looks irrationally pleased with himself. “I like that.”

“Dad!” Sam says, his voice the voice of someone whose life is being slowly ruined while he can do nothing to stop it. It’s not whining. It’s not.

“I have to go to the garage. I’ll see you boys later. Dean, we’re not done.” Dad is out the front door before Sam can even think about vocalizing a formal protest to this inane, insane idea.

Dean gets up from the couch, hand fisted tight around the acceptance letter, probably going to stuff his stupid face with Fun-Yuns or some other foods that’ll practically guarantee that he never goes on anything even resembling a date.

“God, Dean! Can’t you just find some blind, deaf idiot to take you to a movie so that I can have one night of teenage normalcy?”

Dean just grins at him, and it’s not a nice expression. “Sorry, Sammy, looks like you’re gonna miss out on the witty repartee of Lucifer ‘I’m so gorgeous’ Westenra.”

Sam is fuming so hard that smoke might actually be coming out of his ears. “You suck!” he informs his brother, before storming away. Right before he slams his bedroom door shut, he hears Dean’s familiar, mocking tone reach his ears: “You suck!” 

###### 2PLUS. GABRIEL

###### 

Gabriel is sitting in the library, spinning a pen between his fingers while he waits for Sam Winchester. ‘Nervous’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s got a French textbook that he filched from the foreign language section of Barnes and Noble and his attitude, and he really hopes that those two things are enough to win over Sam. Well, why shouldn’t they be? He’s good-looking, charming, and smart (if not exactly knowledgeable in the communication department). He’d be a catch for any guy or girl. Sam has to see that.

It’s at that moment that the object of his affection blows through the front door of the library. Gabriel’s breath catches in his throat as Sam resettles his gangly legs and turns his winning smile on Gabe.

“Hi, sorry I’m late, where do we start?”

“Well,” Gabriel begins smoothly, “I was thinking, the best way to approach any language is total immersion.”

Sam just stares at him blankly.

“Meaning,” Gabriel continues, like there wasn’t just an awkward silence two minutes into this meeting, “French language, music…food.” Sam raises his eyebrows and Gabriel is encouraged. “There’s this great little Bistro off 8th, on New Hampshire.”

“Wait, are you asking me out?” Sam says, a smile starting to form on his lips. “That’s so cute, what’s your name again?”

Ouch. Gabriel tries to ignore the feeling that someone’s just punched him in the chest. “Gabriel. Gabriel Milton.”

“Gabriel. I’m flattered—really I am—but there’s this problem.”

“Yeah, I heard. Can’t date until you graduate, huh? I guess you can’t be persuaded to just sneak out?” 

Sam shakes his head. “My father would absolutely kill me. And whomever I was with.”

Gabriel sighs. “Well, what if we tell him it’s got school? He can’t really expect you not to socialize until you graduate, can he?”

“Wait a minute, though,” Sam says, looking speculative. “There’s actually been a change. I’m allowed to go out on a date—when my brother Dean does.”

“Oh, cool. How do you feel about carnivals?”

Sam frowns. “Uh, hold on. You may not have had the misfortune of meeting my brother yet—”

“Actually, I did,” Gabriel admits. “He almost ran me over in the parking lot.”

“Thus the problem,” Sam says. “He’s a particularly hideous brand of loser.”

“Why, though?” Gabriel asks. “I mean, what crawled up his skirt and died?”

Sam shrugs. “No idea. He actually used to be really popular, back in freshman year, but then he just got sick of it, or something. People don’t even want to talk to him, never mind date him.”

“Sam, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that there’s always an exception that proves the rule. There’s got to be someone out there who would date your brother.”

Sam narrows his eyes. “Do you think you could find someone like that?”

Gabriel shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, of course. I can do anything I set my mind to, Sammy.”

Sam flinches. “Just ‘Sam,’ thanks. Do—would you do that? For me?”

Gabriel shrugs again, but there’s no way he can stop a smile from overtaking his face. “I’ll look into it. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

***

“Mate. What part of, ‘This is a useless endeavor,’ did you fail to comprehend?”

“The part where you’re wrong,” Gabriel grouses, face-down on his lab desk. Crowley probably can’t even hear his tortured tone.

“It’s hopeless. We have literally interviewed every deviant, miscreant, and intellectually challenged tosser who attends this school. Short of organizing a campus-wide massacre—which, I’ll have you know, is entirely within my powers—there is no way to get Dean Winchester a date.”

Gabriel raises his head to chew Crowley out for giving up after only 48 exhausting hours of searching, but something catches his eye before he can even open his mouth. “What about that guy?”

‘That guy’ is two tables away from Gabriel and Crowley. He’s average height, with dark, messy hair, and even though it’s got to be 75 degrees in the classroom, he’s wearing a tan trench coat. He’s also methodically dissecting a frog, slicing into the poor sucker without hesitation, while the redhead next to him stares out the window.

“Do not,” hisses Crowley from beside him, “make eye contact. I’m serious, Milton.”

“Why?” The guy’s so intent on his specimen that Gabriel’s kind of surprised he hasn’t burned a hole in it yet with his eyes. “Who is he? We didn’t talk to him, I’d remember the flasher get-up.”

“His name is Castiel Novak. If I told you half of what he’s done—”

The guy finally looks up and his gaze is so intense that Gabriel hurriedly looks away. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Novak keep staring. What feels like an eye later, he finally turns back to the frog.

“Jeez, what’s with the creeper stare?”

Crowley shrugs, typing into his iPhone while hides it behind the stainless steel tray. “After weeks of searching, I haven’t the faintest. It’s like he just appeared one day. I’ll bet you anything his criminal record’s been sealed.

Gabriel starts. “Criminal record? What makes you think he has one?”

Crowley scoffs. “Look at him. Torturing small animals is a hallmark of violent serial killers.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “It’s for an assignment. You’re supposed to be cutting that thing up, too.”

“I’m delegating the task while I use my not-inconsiderable resources to help you.”

“No one knows anything about him?”

“Since his arrival, I have heard no fewer than 12 people swear that he is a murderer, serial arsonist, war veteran, Playboy model, porn star, ex-junkie, current junkie, mafia informant, foreign diplomat, foreign prince, trained assassin, and movie star undercover for a role. Whatever he’s been up to, it can’t be good.”

“He’s perfect,” Gabriel declares. Crowley’s head snaps up.

“I’m sorry? You’re not suggesting that we voluntarily imperil ourselves trying to recruit that violent offender, are you?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. He’s weird, Dean’s mean, they’ll be a great match. The odd ones always stick together.”

“Then what we need,” Crowley responds, “is a backer.”

Gabriel wrinkles his nose. “What? Why?”

“Because it’s efficient,” Crowley says. “Find some rich tosser, have him pay Novak to take Dean out, and then you can swoop in and sweep Winchester off his gargantuan feet.”

Gabriel flushes a little. “Hey, that’s not—”

“Please. Was I supposed to believe you like his personality?”

“Shut up.”

“As I was saying. Having a middle man to do the dirty work frees you up to pursue the moose and offers us deniability in the case of a disaster.”

“Is this going to be a disaster?” Have you ever actually done anything like this before?”

“No. But they don’t call me a demon here for nothing; trust me, I get deals done.”

“That’s not really reassuring, Crowley.”

***

“I don’t like it,” Gabriel says, for the third time.

Crowley doesn’t even bother to hide his eye roll. “So you’ve said. Congratulations on mastering the art of boring repetition.”

“You can’t possibly think this is a good idea, Crowley.”

“It’s not a good idea, it’s a brilliant one, and possibly your only change to land Loverboy.”

“There are too many things that could go wrong,” Gabriel argues. “What if Lucifer doesn’t go for it? What if he does and Sam falls for him? What if Dean won’t date Castiel? What if someone finds out what we’re doing—”

He’s unceremoniously cut off when Crowley claps a well-manicured hand over his mouth. “Hush. Stop being so negative about everything. You’ve never made a deal with Crowley on your side—”

“Referring to yourself in the third person is so creepy—”

“—so I’ll forgive your doubts—this once—but please, stop nattering on. You’re getting on my nerves and I need to be in top form to pull this off.”

Gabriel starts to speak, hesitates, then stops. Crowley just arches an eyebrow and says, “This better be good.”

“All the things you’ve told me about Lucifer—”

“Yes, he’s a horrible, despicable human being. What of it?”

“I’m just worried about Sam getting near him,” Gabriel mutters. He half-expects Crowley to laugh, but when the other boy stays silent, he continues. “If this works and Castiel says yes, Lucifer’s going to have a free pass to Sam Winchester, all-inclusive. If he gets hurt—”

“But that’s what you’re for,” Crowley interrupts. “Novak saying yes is your free pass, too. And, given the choice, who do you think he’ll choose: his handsome and friendly French tutor, or the guy he won’t have time to see, you’ll be keeping him so busy?”

Put it that way, Crowley’s got a point. Gabriel’s already planned out at least 20 dates with Sam—the carnival; the drive-in movie theater just outside of town; and plenty of other places, too. He thinks they could have a ton of fun together.

“Alright,” he tells Crowley. “Okay, I’m in.”

Crowley actually smiles. “As though there were ever a doubt. Now, shut up and let me do the talking.”

Lucifer is surrounded by a group of gorgeous model-types when Crowley approaches him. Gabriel is strategically placed just a table away (next to the garbage cans—the things he does for love) so that he can hear the entire conversation and make sure Crowley stays in line. And doesn’t get picked up and thrown into the trash.

“Are you lost?” Lucifer asks, sounds supremely bored. The blonde next to him giggles.

“Just stopped by for a quick chat, actually.”

“We don’t chat,” Lucifer responds, his voice sounding deceptively calm. “Now, are you leaving on your own, or do you need to be carried?”

Crowley just smirks. “It’s about Sam Winchester. I think you’ll like what I have to say.”

Lucifer stares, considering. Gabriel is tempted to yell, “It’s a trap!” but he refrains.

“You have 30 seconds. Go.”

Crowley doesn’t even looked fazed. Meanwhile, Gabriel is sweating bullets like he’s the one being studied like a bug.

“You want Sam Winchester, but he can’t date until his brother, Dean, does. Unfortunately, dear Dean has no takers.”

“You’re telling me nothing I don’t already know.”

“But,” Crowley continues, ignoring the interruption, “I have someone who will date Dean.”

“And who might that be?”

“Castiel Novak,” Crowley says, and Gabriel would swear he can see a lightbulb go off over Lucifer’s head. “I’m sure you’ve heard about his past.”

“I thought those were all rumors.”

“Confirmed, but off the record. You know how skittish a good source can be. Regardless, it’s all true. If there’s one person who can handle Dean Winchester at his worst, it’s Novak.”

“Interesting theory,” Lucifer says. “Just one question: what’s in it for you?”

Gabriel’s heart, which had risen almost of out his chest, now plummets so far into his stomach that it cause a physical pain. Ouch. They never discussed an explanation for Lucifer (assuming, mistakenly as it turns out, that he was too stupid to need one). Gabriel starts eyeing the exits, trying to figure out if he has time to grab Crowley and make a dash for it or if this is one of those ‘every man for himself’ scenarios.

“Purely altruism on my part.” When Lucifer stares, without speaking, for a full 20 second, Crowley gives a little shrug and adds, “And, if I may one day need a favor and say hello to you in the hallway...”

Lucifer nods. “Popular by association. That will only work once with me, you know.”

“Once is more than enough,” Crowley says. “Do we have a deal?”

Lucifer nods. “I’ll take care of Novak. Now leave.”

Crowley, for once, wisely chooses to leave instead of offering a smart remark. Gabriel waits a full ten seconds before hightailing it out of the cafeteria through the emergency exit, where he finds Crowley typing on his iPhone next to the bleachers.

“Told you,” Crowley says with a smirk. “Piece of cake.”

###### 3\. LUCIFER

###### 

Lucifer has this tradition. Every September since freshman year, he checks out all the incoming students; takes particular note of those who are attractive, naïve, full of themselves, or all three; and then spends a year systematically taking them apart. The attractive ones, because who doesn’t like a pretty face; the naïve ones, because it’s a pleasure to show them how the world really works; and those who think highly of themselves, because bringing people down is the best game he’s ever played.

His plan usually culminates in taking one special student to prom and then humiliating them afterwards, most often by discussing their sexual exploits in public and then dumping them. You would think that, after the first year, everyone would have known better, but this May will be his fourth year running without even breaking a sweat. And Lucifer knows exactly how he’s going to make this date one to remember.

Sam Winchester. On paper, he’s already a great choice: extremely attractive, probably without even knowing it; stupid enough to think a senior could want him for anything more than sex; and desperate enough to be popular that he’s willing to say or do anything Lucifer wants. Like a blow-up doll, come to life. Exactly what Lucifer is looking for.

What really seals the deal for Lucifer, though, is context: because Sam Winchester means Dean. Dean, who’s spent the last three years pretending Lucifer doesn’t exist, acting high and mighty on the strength of his supposed “blackmail.” Lucifer may not be able to touch Dean directly, but he has a very good idea of how the elder Winchester will feel when, come day after prom, everyone is talking about just how talented Sam is in bed. Even if the two brothers don’t spend time together in school, it’s obvious that Dean still cares about Sam. It’s equally obvious that Sam is only too eager to distance himself from his big brother, which should make the build-up to prom very fun.

Lucifer is thinking about circulating photos, possibly video, with all his prom gossip. It should make for a fun end to the school year.

The problem is that those two maggots are right. Sam won’t defy his father directly (Lucifer has already tried), which leaves finding Dean a date as his only solution. No one at school will touch Dean with a ten-foot pole and it’s completely his own doing. Offering a cash incentive is probably going to be the only way to get this done. And, although he hates to admit it, the little twerps are also right in that Novak is the best choice. He hasn’t been in school long enough to form the inevitable negative opinion about Dean and something tells Lucifer that the cash would be welcome.

Now the only question is how to spin it.

Castiel Novak is standing by the dugout when Lucifer approaches. Novak really is a weird guy: he always wears the same beat-up trench coat to school, only ever talks to a redhead whose name Lucifer doesn’t even know, and has more rumors swirling around him than Lindsay Lohan on her worst day. Lucifer feels mildly disgusted to be seen next to someone like that, but the British one has a point: while no one in their right mind would date Dean Winchester, someone as unhinged as Novak might.

“Hello,” he says. If some of those rumors are true, it’s best to approach with caution. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

Castiel turns his gaze from the baseball diamond to Lucifer. He stares, intently, without blinking or saying a word. This must be where the mental hospital rumor started, he does look unbalanced.

“Baseball fan?” he tries.

Novak doesn’t stop staring, almost like he can see straight through Lucifer. “Do I know you?” he asks. His voice is low and gravelly. This must be where the escaped convict rumor started.

“No, but I have a proposition for you,” Lucifer begins. “See that guy?” He points to Winchester, who’s warming up in the on-deck circle and swinging the bat hard enough to send a head flying. God, the hours Lucifer wasted on him.

“I want you to take him out on a date. Dinner, movie, the sewer system for all I care. Just keep him occupied for a few hours.”

Castiel continues to stare, unblinking, but his eyebrows furrow. “Why would I want to do that?”

Knowing that he’ll likely get one chance at this, Lucifer rouses his most charming smile. “Because the compensation will be well worth your while.”

Novak’s brow remains rumpled. “You’re going to pay me to take out some guy? Why?”

Lucifer sighs internally. Of course it couldn’t have been that easy. Nothing about Dean Winchester—except his body—ever is. “Dean’s brother, Sam, can’t date until Dean does. I want to take Sam out, so I need someone to engage Dean’s attention. You look like someone who enjoys a challenge.”

Castiel looks unconvinced. “Does Dean have no other suitors? Why should dating him be a challenge?”

The rumor about Novak being a contestant on “Fear Factor” was clearly unfounded. Lucifer quickly searches for a way to redirect the conversation. “Beats me. Look at the guy, he’s pretty hot,” he says forcing himself not to grimace at the words. They both turn towards the baseball diamond, just in time to see Dean barrel down the catcher and slide in safe at home plate. Judging by the way the catcher is cradling his hand and moaning, something is probably sprained or broken, but Dean walks away, unconcerned, while Mr. Turner congratulates him on his hustle.

“Maybe no one has been able to get through to his sensitive side,” Lucifer tries, seeing his chance to bang Sam Winchester rapidly disintegrating.

“That seems unlikely,” Castiel replies, turning away.

Lucifer grabs the other boy’s arm before he can start walking. “Wait. Listen, I’m prepared to give you fifty dollars. One date, that’s all I need.”

Castiel looks back at the field. The catcher is now surrounded by all his teammates and the school nurse. “One hundred dollars,” he counters, after a beat.

Lucifer narrows his eyes. Is the vermin trying to hustle him? For a moment, he considers, before imagining Sam Winchester and the pleasure he’s going to take from announcing their exploits to the entire school. “Seventy five.”

There’s a second where he thinks Meyer is going to decline, and his mind immediately starts cycling through alternatives, but then Castiel nods and says “Deal.” Lucifer refrains from grinning as Novak walks towards Dean, but just barely.

######  _INTERLUDE_

###### 

“Hello,” comes a voice from his left, interrupting Dean’s post-practice stretching. When he straightens up, there’s this guy standing next to him—and Dean literally means ‘next to,’ dude has no concept of personal space—and watching Dean with these intense blue eyes. It feels kind of like being attacked with twin laser beams. Dean feels his guard going up, adrenaline pumping back into his system.

“Do I know you?” Dean demands, pushing himself up to full height. He’s got about an inch on the guy, small comfort.

“No. My name is Castiel Novak. We share sixth-period English,” the stranger explains. Dean has a vague memory or two of this guy sitting in the back row, but the seat’s empty more times than it’s not.

“Fascinating. What do you want?”

“I would like you to accompany me on a date tomorrow evening. Is eight o’clock acceptable?”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Is this a joke? Let me guess, I’m on Candid Camera. Screw you, not interested.”

He starts to walk away, but Castiel grabs his arm after only a step. Dean looks down at the hand, pointedly, before he raises his eyes. “If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you move it. And then get the hell out of my way, I don’t play well with strangers.”

Castiel does this weird thing, where he tilts his head to one side while staring at Dean, considering. It reminds Dean of a cat, or maybe a bird, and is not all endearing, in a bizarre way. Castiel lets go of Dean’s arm, but doesn’t back away.

“I apologize, I believe I phrased my request poorly. Would you like to accompany me on a date tomorrow evening? The time can be your choice.”

In the face of the guy’s earnestness (and his weird-ass voice; seriously, who talks like that?), Dean just sighs. “Look, I don’t know if someone put you up to this, or if you’re just that stupid and misinformed, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You don’t want to date me; just turn around and forget this conversation ever happened.”

“On the contrary,” Castiel says slowly, like Dean’s the dumb one here, “I would very much like to take you on a date, and I don’t wish to forget that his conversation has occurred. It has been…illuminating.”

Dean doesn’t miss the way the other guy’s eyes track across his face as he says it, and it’s probably the most eye contact another student’s made with him in about, oh, two years. He blames the blush creeping up his neck on that, and that alone.

“Yeah, well, you want illumination, turn to Milton. Personally, I don’t give a crap what you want, so do us both a favor and leave me alone.”

He starts to walk off the field, all righteous indignation in his step, when Castiel’s voice rings out behind him. “What in me is dark / Illumine, what is low, raise and support,” he recites, and Dean can hear the line breaks and perfect iambic pentameter, even orally. He halts, turns back around to find Castiel standing in the same spot, staring at Dean intently.

“Please consider my offer,” he says, and Dean can’t manage a word as he watches Castiel walk away.

###### 4\. DEAN

###### 

Dean’s putting the finishing touches on a lab report (god, advanced placement biology is such a drag, what was he thinking), when he hears Sam get home. Time was, Sam would drop his book bag the minute he walked through the door and search Dean out, spilling all the details of his middle- or elementary-school day, usually with an intense focus on whatever social studies lesson he’d just finished. Dean is resolutely not thinking about those days—about a Sam who only came up to his shoulder, a Sam who was as thin as a reed and had the girliest bangs—as he hears his brother clomp up the stairs. Dean is also resolutely not thinking about a blue-eyed guy with a weird name and an even weirder manner, who apparently doesn’t know better than to ask out a social pariah. Dean is thinking about…his SAT II scores, and his APs, and how much work he still has to do before graduation. Really.

Sam is banging around in their joint bathroom and, after about five minutes, Dean gives up on writing a satisfactory conclusion and goes to see what his brother is doing. He regrets it immediately.

Sam turns up his nose at the sight of his still-sweaty, disheveled older brother. “You know,” he begins pensively, and Dean really hates that tone, because Sam can invariably be counted on to say something stupid afterwards, “if you would just give me, like half an hour, I could make you into something that people actually want to associate with.”

Yeah, never fails. Dean rolls his eyes. “You forget, Sammy, I don’t care what people think.”

Sam matches the eye-roll with one of his own. “Of course you do, Dean, everyone care what people think about them.”

Dean can’t help but soften a little at that, because, jeez. Sam is still such a baby, in so many ways. “No, Sam, I really don’t. And you shouldn’t either. You don’t always have to be who they want you to be, you know.”

Sam stares at him seriously. “I happen to like being popular, Dean. And adored.”

“Right,” Dean says. It’s like talking to a brick wall sometimes. Then he catches sight of something hanging around Sam’s neck. “What the hell is that?”

“What? Oh, this? It was Mom’s,” Sam says carelessly, raising a hand to the small amulet.

“Yeah, and? What, were you hiding it for fourteen years?”

“No,” Sam says primly, choosing to ignore the anger in Dean’s tone. “Dad just found it last week, when he was going through Mom’s stuff.”

“And what, you’re just gonna keep it? Gonna wear it like, what, like it’s just nothing?” Dean says, hearing his voice rising and being unable to stop it. He sees, in the mirror’s reflection, that he’s scaring Sam—hell, he’s scaring himself—but the sight of the amulet, just hanging there, like it’s totally normal and not out of the ordinary, is making something furious rise up in his chest.

“Yes, I am,” Sam says, meeting Dean’s challenge, because the kid’s a lot of things, but coward isn’t one of them. “Besides, it looks good on me.”

“Trust me,” Deans spits, turning to leave before he says something he really regrets, “it really doesn’t.”

Ruby is his only friend at Lawrence High. She’s kind of a bitch, and Dean thinks they wouldn’t get along if Ruby didn’t hate everyone else in town with a burning passion. Ruby doesn’t take shit from anybody, and she’s been suspended almost as many times as Dean, usually for brawling with the bleached-blonde bimbos who call Ruby names. Ruby drives a Mustang and usually has a switchblade strapped to her boot, so you’d think people would know better.

Before Ruby there had been Jo, and Dean had loved her so much that when she moved away, it almost killed him. Dean met Jo his first day in Kansas; she’d been at the Roadhouse with Ellen and Bill when his dad pulled in, tired after driving all day. Dean hadn’t wanted to play with a girl, even if Sammy was too little to really be fun, but Jo had bet him five dollars that she could beat him at darts, and Dean had been hooked. She’d kicked his ass, too.

Jo had been the only person on his side the whole time. Even when Sam had stopped talking to him and school and started looking for excuses to avoid him, Jo had stuck by Dean. She’d gotten into trouble a few times, too, for yelling at people who bothered him or graffitied his locker. She’d been livid, when Dean told her the ‘hows’ and ‘whys’; Dean had actually had to hold her back from tearing Lucifer a new one. Dean had just wanted to forget everything. And Jo had only looked at him and said, “Okay. If you’re sure.”

She’d left at the end of sophomore year and there had been a hole in his heart. Ellen just couldn’t stay after Bill’s accident and they’d gone out West. He still talked to Jo all the time, but it wasn’t the same.

Ruby had transferred in the fall. When found her, outside the art room one day, cornered, he’d beaten the shit out of two of the guys and Ruby had finished off the third. They’d blown off fourth period to go smoke in Ruby’s car, and something tentative was established without even a word. 

A few weeks later, Ruby had turned to Dean and said, “I’m not her, you know.” Dean had known. He couldn’t forget. But Ruby was a good friend in her own way, and even though she couldn’t erase the pain of losing Jo, she did lessen it.

So Dean and Ruby were the terrors of Lawrence High, and people knew better than to get on their bad sides—or even to come near them at all. Dean preferred things that way.

Dean ends up at the music store, because Ruby is busy—“personal shit, Winchester” is the only thing she said—and he’s got a limited number of places to relax in Lawrence. He spends a little while looking at the guitars (he’s got an eye on this vintage Fender if he ever, you know, wins the lottery), before grabbing a few records and heading back to the Impala. Worst comes to worst, he can always lock himself in his room to get away from Sam and Dad.

Because he’s nothing if not consistently unlucky, he comes out of the store to find one Castiel Novak, in the same stupid trench coat, standing awkwardly next to the Impala. Dean gives the guy props for not leaning on the car (nobody’s ass touches his baby without explicit permission), but then immediately subtracts them for the stalker impersonation.

“Are you following me? Because that’s seriously not cool.”

“I was not,” Castiel says stiffly. “I was at the laundromat down the street when I saw your car pass. I thought I would take the opportunity to see if you had considered my offer.”

“Not really, no,” Dean replies. “I tend not to take random offers from complete strangers too seriously. No offense of anything.”

“You know my name and our school relationship, have we not passed to acquaintances yet?”

Dean eyes Castiel, unsure if the other guy is joking or not. “Those two things don’t really tell me that much.”

“Then the best way to ameliorate the situation would be to spend more quality time together, would it not?” and now that Dean is looking carefully, he can just see one corner or Castiel’s mouth turn up. It’s an unexpectedly sweet expression, considering how easily it could morph into a smirk.

“Nice try, Romeo,” Dean says, opening the back door and tossing in his purchases. “Still not buying what you’re selling.”

When Dean looks back over, Castiel is staring again, the smile now gone. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Dean frowns. “Why would I be afraid of you? The stalker thing is weird, but trust me, I can and will kick your ass if I have to.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Castiel replies, the hint of a smile returning. “However, most people express some degree of anxiety around me.”

“Well, I’m not most people,” Dean retorts. “Trust me, your presence doesn’t affect my anxiety levels in any way.”

“I am glad,” Castiel states. “I feel it would be a serious impediment to our burgeoning relationship.”

Dean snorts. “You just don’t quit, do you?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No. It’s really in your best interest to say yes.”

Dean’s saved from having to reply—not that he even knows what he would have said to Castiel—when Lucifer pulls up in front of the store in his ridiculous white Porsche. Actually, he doesn’t so much pull up in front of the store as in front of the Impala, effectively blocking Dean from leaving his parking spot. Lucifer jumps out of the car and starts to stride past Dean, smug smirk firmly in place.

“Hey, asshole, do you mind?” Dean snaps.

“Not at all,” Lucifer replies calmly, not even bothering to look at Dean as he enters the store.

Dean sees red. It’s an instinctive reaction when it comes to Lucifer—hell, it’s an instinctive reaction to most of the people he deals with every day—but for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t tamp down his rage and force himself not to act. He goes with his gut, getting into his car without another thought. Castiel’s face hovers on the edge of his vision, but the only thing Dean focuses on is slamming his foot on the gas and the satisfying sound his baby makes when she smashes into the douchebag’s hunk of crap. When the mist finally clears from his eyes, Castiel’s eyebrows are up to hairline and Lucifer is streaking out of the store, his face contorted with fury. “You bitch!” he screams, racing past Dean and heading for his now-steaming engine.

Dean meets Castiel’s eyes. Guy wants to date him? He deserves to know exactly what he’s getting into, that way he can still turn tail and run before it’s too late.

To his surprise, the look of shock on Castiel’s face is slowly fading, to be replaced with that same one-sided smile, only this time, it’s slipping into smirk territory. Dean feels a matching grin start to grow on his own face. Yeah, fixing up his baby is going to take forever, and there’s going to be hell to pay when his Dad hears about this, but. Worth it.

“Whoops,” Dean says.

***

“‘Whoops’?” John says. “‘Whoops,’ Dean?”

“Yeah, Dad, you said that, like, four times already,” Dean calls out from the couch, where he’s cracked open his copy of Paradise Lost and is re-reading Book Three.

“My insurance doesn’t cover male PMS, Dean! I don’t even think that’s a real medical condition!”

“Okay, then, tell them I had a seizure or something,” Dean shrugs. When he’d gotten home and checked out the Impala, she’d hardly been scratched, and he was so relieved that his Dad’s yelling is going right over his head.

“Dean,” his Dad says, pushing Dean’s legs out of the way to sit down on the couch. “Is this about school? Are you trying to punish me because I want you to stay home?”

Dean swallows hard. He doesn’t really want to have this conversation with his dad, but he does want to make him understand. “Are you punishing me because we lost Mom? Because I miss her too, Dad, but keeping me here won’t bring her back.”

“I know that,” his dad snaps. “I may just be a mechanic, but I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said you were,” Dean snaps right back, because Sam and Dad are exactly the same sometimes. You can have the same argument with them a thousand times and they still won’t get it. “Dad, I just want you to let me make my own choices.”

“Dean, you’re eighteen, sometimes you don’t know what’s best for you,” his dad says, trying for reasonable. It makes Dean laugh.

“What, and you do?” Dean asks, incredulously. “Come on, Dad, keeping me in Kansas forever isn’t going to make either one of us happy.”

“Listen to me—” his dad begins, before his phone starts ringing. Checking the caller ID, he curses. “Dean, I have to go. We’re not finished here.”

“Can’t wait,” Dean says sarcastically. As his Dad leaves, Sam storms in, waving his cell phone in one hand.

“Did you just total Lucifer’s car?” Sam shrieks, and you’d think Dean had chopped off a limb or something.

“Yeah, looks like you’ll have to start taking the bus with the rest of the masses,” Dean shoots back. “Sucks to be you, don’t it.”

“Has the fact that you’re completely psycho managed to escape your attention? What is wrong with you?” Sam shouts at him, towering over Dean and blocking out the light.

“I don’t play well with others, didn’t you get the memo?” Dean replies. “Move, Sam, I’m trying to read.”

Sam huffs and spins on his heel. “I can’t believe I share genetic material with someone who’s so clearly crazy!”

###### 5\. CASTIEL

###### 

When Castiel walks into school on Friday morning, it’s after a fitful night of sleep. Even after so much time spent apart, he and Anna live in cycles; when she sleeps poorly, so does he, and the previous night had been a bad one. They’d spent a good deal of time just sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea. It had done wonders for Anna’s nerves, but little for Castiel’s long-standing headache. It is, of course, a worthwhile trade.

His uneasy feelings are compounded when, immediately after reaching his locker, Lucifer Westenra appears next to him.

“When I pay someone—in cold, hard cash, no less—I expect results,” Lucifer begins, his voice deceptively calm. “Watching that bitch violate my car does not constitute a date. Am I making myself clear?”

Castiel stares at the other boy for a minute, trying to gauge his reactions. He has quickly come to realize that Lucifer’s words often seem at odds with his intentions and actions; Castiel is sometimes unsure of the appropriate response.

However, what he does know is that his reputation at this school—or lack of it—was Lucifer’s primary motivator in employing him. Playing on this reputation seems to be his best choice.

“I have changed my mind,” he announces firmly, watching Lucifer’s eyebrows draw together. “In order to court Dean, I will need an allowance of one hundred dollars, per date, paid in advance.”

Predictably, the question throws Lucifer off-balance. “You must be joking. Do you think you can hustle me? Forget it.”

“Then forget Sam Winchester,” Castiel says calmly. “Without me, you have no way to secure a date with him.”

Lucifer stares at Castiel, considering. Although his palms have begun to sweat, Castiel maintains a look of polite disinterest. If he has misjudged—if he’s pushed Lucifer too hard—this will all be over before it begins and Castiel will have lost only a chance.

“Fine,” Lucifer says, and the look on his face says that the word is distasteful. “I hope that you’re as smooth as you think. I don’t tolerate failure.” He leaves Castiel, who finally lets out the breath he’s been holding. Now all that he needs to do is come up with a plan.

Castiel is still puzzling over his problem the next day in shop class. Being in the workshop helps his thinking process; yes, some of his concentration is needed to avoid an accident, but the work is repetitive and monotonous, leaving his mind free to wander.

If asked, Castiel would readily admit that he has no idea how to woo someone. His only ideas come from eighteen years of watching human interactions and television relationships. Anna would likely be his best source of advice, but Castiel doesn’t want her to know what he’s doing. She would certainly disapprove.

His musings are interrupted when two boys walk up to his workstation. Castiel recognizes the taller of the two, although he doesn’t know his name. The shorter boy, who appears nervous, is unfamiliar.

“Hello. Can I help you?”

“We know what you’re trying to do,” the shorter one says. “With Dean Winchester?”

Castiel straightens up. He had assumed that Lucifer would keep their plan silent, as it would reflect quite poorly on both of them, but perhaps he had been mistaken. “I see. And what do you intend to do with this information?”

The boy blinks at him. “Help you land the guy.”

Castiel is mystified. “Why—why would you wish to do that?”

“Let me explain,” the other boy interrupts. “Crowley. You’re Novak, yeah?”

“Castiel Novak, yes.”

“Well, Castiel, it’s like this. My associate here, Gabriel, is besotted with Sam Winchester, your hellion’s brother.”

“Sam must be very…appealing, to have so many suitors,” Castiel says, considering. He has never seen Dean’s younger brother, but that must be the explanation. 

“Well, I’m not just interested in the pretty face,” Gabriel says. “He has a personality, too.”

“I fail to see how this is relevant. You are aware that Lucifer is paying me to pursue Dean Winchester; how does this involve you?”

“Because we orchestrated the whole thing,” Crowley explains. Now, Castiel is beginning to understand. “I’m the one who convinced Lucifer to hire you, but, surprise, surprise, as soon as Sam is up for grabs, Gabriel here will sweep in and whisk the lad off his feet. It’s foolproof.”

“I find that doubtful,” Castiel feels compelled to interject. “However, I will not object to your assistance, if you really feel you can help.”

“Perfect,” Crowley exclaims. “Now that’s settled, let’s talk details. Alistair Kerebros is throwing a party this weekend. It’s the perfect opportunity.”

“Opportunity for what?” Castiel asks.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “For you to take Dean out. Try and keep up, hmm?”

Gabriel elbows Crowley and they share a look that Castiel can’t comprehend, before Crowley clears his throat. “Sorry, mate,” he offers.

Castiel frowns. “It’s fine. And I will take your advice into consideration.” He turns back to his work. Besides him, he hears Crowley chuckle.

“Time for revenge on that wanker. Alistair won’t know what hit him.”

Castiel thinks about asking what Crowley’s referring to, before deciding against it. His new acquaintances are very odd.

###### 6\. GABRIEL

###### 

French lessons are a disaster, from a scholastic point of view. Gabriel and Sam abandon the library pretty early on, in favor of the park, or this awesome bakery downtown with chocolate chip croissants that Gabriel would kill for. They spend most of their time swapping stories—Sam moved around a lot as a kid, too, his dad apparently being the restless type. Sam’s a California boy at heart, although Gabriel is trying to bring him around to the merits of the East Coast. Neither of them loves Kansas, although Sam seems to have a strange affinity for it.

Today, they’re actually at Sam’s house, “studying” (a loose term that includes “talking,” “gossiping about other students,” and “listening to music”). Sam had assured Gabriel that his father wouldn’t be home until late, which drastically reduces his chances of dismemberment. Or castration. It’s a pretty sweet situation.

Gabriel does make some cursory attempts to throw French words into the conversations, but it’s pretty much a lost cause. Luckily, Sam doesn’t need that much help—he’s actually much smarter than he lets on. Gabriel wonders about the act, but it’s letting him spend time with Sam, so he doesn’t really care.

What he does care about is how to make Dean Winchester fall for Castiel Novak.

“Sam, you haven’t exactly been a fountain of knowledge over here when it comes to your brother.”

“I’m sorry, okay!” Sam exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. You’re asking me for information on the workings of a deeply disturbed individual.”

“I know that,” Gabriel says, placating. “But anything you’ve got—anybody he’s dated, anybody he’s looked at twice, anything he’s ever said about relationships. He’s not exactly taking the bait.”

Sam screws up his nose. It’s adorable, and it kind of makes Gabriel want to kiss him. “I found a picture of Matt Bomer in his room one time. You know, the guy from ‘White Collar’?”

“Hmm,” Gabriel says. “So that’s the kind of guy he likes, a pretty guy? Well, Novak’s not bad. Needs a shave, though.”

Sam narrows his eyes at Gabriel. “You sound like you want to date him.”

Gabriel’s a little stunned. Is Sam actually jealous? Does he not realize what this whole thing is about? He forces himself to grin. “So not my type, Sam.”

Sam ducks his head a little and smiles. “Oh, okay.”

Gabriel wants to jump up and do a victory dance, but he restrains himself. Barely.

“Okay, so forget relationships. Favorite bands, books…sexual positions?”

“Ew, Gabriel, that’s disgusting!” Sam says, grimacing. He thinks for a minute. “Do you want to go to his room and look around? You could probably figure out more that I can.”

Score. Gabriel is nothing if not an excellent snoop. “Lead the way, mon petit chou,” he says, the nickname making Sam groan.

“Seriously, that is so cheesy.”

Gabriel just shrugs. Taste is acquired.

Dean’s room is a gold mine. It’s unsurprisingly messy, with clothes and books scattered everywhere. Gabriel sees a lot of American classics; Dean’s DVDs show the same bent. There’s a giant Led Zeppelin poster on one wall, and the cassette collection is a rock fan’s wet dream. Gabriel is impressed. Some car magazines, a few scattered photographs, including one of a blonde Gabriel assumes is Mary Winchester (Sam never talks about her) and a family shot where Sam and Dean are smiling toddlers.

“Bingo!” Sam calls out from the dresser, and when Gabriel turns around, Sam is holding up a pair of black boxers. Gabriel feels his eyebrows rise.

“Nice, Sam, but that’s a little kinky, even for me.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I repeat, gross. No, it’s a clue.”

“And what exactly does boxers or briefs tell us?”

“Nobody buys black underwear unless they think someone’s going to undress them. He wants someone to see them. Ergo, he wants to have sex.”

Gabriel stares. “Did you seriously just use ‘ergo’ in a normal conversation?”

“That is so missing the point, Gabriel. This is a good sign.”

“If you say so,” Gabriel shrugs, resuming his search. A second later, a thought pops into his head. “Hey, Sam.”

“Yeah?”

Gabriel waggles his eyebrows. “You have any black boxers in your room? Or briefs, a guy can’t be too picky.”

Sam flushes bright red. “That’s—that’s a very personal question.” Abruptly, he clears his throat. “Okay, I think we’re done here,” he says, before rushing out of Dean’s bedroom, still beet red.

###### 7\. CASTIEL

###### 

“So,” Castiel says, looking at the hastily written list in front of him. Something that he hopes is chocolate is smeared on one corner. “You’re suggesting I buy Dean a cheeseburger and talk to him about Kurt Vonnegut while we listen to classic rock together?”

“Uh,” Gabriel says. “Yeah, more or less.” Off Castiel’s look, he raises his hands in submission. “Sam’s know the guy his whole life, he says this is what Dean likes.”

“I see.” Castiel doesn’t listen to music often, but rock isn’t bad, and while he prefers steak, any red meat will be a treat.

“He and Ruby have plans tonight, Crowley add. “’Doctor Badass’ is playing at the Roadhouse.”

“I can’t go there,” Castiel says quickly. Too quickly, he realizes a second later, as Gabriel and Crowley look at him in surprise.

“I’m sure it’s not your scene, but you’ll have to suck it up for one night. He’ll be partying, dancing, all loosened up; you slip in, invite him to Alistair’s—presto, our work is half done.”

“Our work will be far from over after arranging one date,” Castiel feels compelled to point out. Crowley sighs.

“Relax. This will be a piece of cake. If he wants to put out on the date, even better for us.”

Castiel bristles. “I am not interested in coercing someone into sexual congress.”

“Who said anything about coercion? I’m just saying—”

“Well, don’t,” he interrupts, and Crowley’s mouth snaps shut. “I will go to the Roadhouse and ask him about the party.”

“Thanks, Castiel,” Gabriel says, once his eyes have stopped moving back and forth between Castiel and Crowley as though he’s expecting a fight. “Really.”

“I will let you know what happens,” Castiel says, nodding at each boy and moving to the door with the list clutched in one hand.

“I wonder what crawled up his skirt and died,” he hears Crowley saying, right before he leaves.

The Roadhouse is completely packed when Castiel arrives. It’s unsurprising, considering that it’s a Friday night. Castiel is glad—the crowd will offer him some anonymity and, hopefully, Dean will be more likely to talk to him surrounded by a group. Castiel hadn’t missed how tense Dean had been with him, alone on the baseball field.

Now Castiel is the tense one, recognizing that his attempts this far have been largely futile. If he doesn’t secure a date with Dean soon, Lucifer is likely to rescind his offer, no matter how tempting a prize Sam Winchester is.

Castiel’s latest (and last) plan is to be someone other than himself; he’s seen enough films with a charming, smooth, and slightly aloof male lead to have an idea that people tend to fall for those types. He doubts he’ll be able to pull off ‘smooth’ or ‘charming’ well, but aloof is easy enough.

Moving through the crowd, he spots Dean near the makeshift stage, standing next to a vaguely familiar blonde. The two are singing along with the music, the girl dancing as well. Dean looks happy and carefree—the first time Castiel has seen such an open, unguarded expression on the other boy’s face. It’s such a change from the tense or angry visages Dean usually shows, and Castiel enjoys looking at him. He looks much younger this way and Castiel finds himself wishing that Dean smiled more often.

Unfortunately, the space in front of the stage is crowded and Castiel has no chance of intercepting Dean there. His best bet is at the bar, where Dean will almost certainly come for a drink. Castiel swallows hard. He had hoped to avoid that area of the Roadhouse, but luck is not on his side tonight.

Michael raises his eyebrows at the sight of Castiel. “Little brother, of all the people I’d expect here, you’re the very last.” He smiles at Castiel, though, so Castiel reluctantly smiles back.

“Hello, Michael,” he says, and stops. He doesn’t know what else to say. This is his older brother, and he doesn’t know how to speak to him anymore.

“It’s good to see you. How’s Anna doing?”

“She is fine, thank you for asking. How are you?” Castiel inquires politely.

Michael laughs. “I’m just fine. Guess we all are.”

There’s an awkward silence. Castiel looks at the bar top, the bottles behind the counter. He wishes this song would finish.

“What are you doing here, Castiel? I meant what I said, this is…surprising of you.”

“I am meeting a friend here,” Castiel lies easily. Because he is either very lucky or very unlucky, the song ends at that moment and, out of the corner of his eye, Castiel sees Dean picking his way through the crowd, on his way to the bar. He quickly turns back, surprised to find a drink in front of him. He frowns at his brother. “Michael, I am underage. This is very inappropriate.”

Michael laughs again. “Non-alcoholic. You look like you need something to do.”

His brother turns his back, busying himself with rearranging the bottles, as Dean reaches the bar.

“You again. I’m starting to think you put a tracking device on my car or something,” Dean says, but he still has a hint of a smile on his face and his posture is relaxed as he leans back against the bar.

A new song has started. Castiel gestures vaguely behind himself. “Do you mind? I am trying to enjoy the music.”

He can just barely see Dean narrowing his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Can I get a water,” he says to Michael, turning around to face the bar. Michael acquiesces and Castiel doesn’t miss the surprised look his brother gives him.

“Didn’t peg you as a classic rock fan,” Dean says, after only a few seconds. Castiel is so surprised at Dean trying to initiate conversation that he almost forgets to play aloof.

“I enjoy all kinds of music but, yes, I find this enjoyable. The singer is no Robert Plant—”

“Wait, wait, wait. You know Plant?”

“Of course,” Castiel says, surprised. “Led Zeppelin is one of the most successful and innovative bands in history. It is hard to escape their influence, especially here.”

Dean stares hard at him, considering. “You really know how to throw a guy for a curve, huh?”

“I was watching you and your friend out there,” Castiel confesses, before he can stop himself. “I’ve never seen you look so…appealing.”

The music to “Heartbreaker” cuts out just as Castiel is finishing and his words ring out, loud. Everyone standing near the bar hears him and many of them laugh at his (admittedly poor) pick-up line. Dean ducks his head, embarrassed, but he’s smiling again. Castiel ignores the blush rising up his cheeks. “Come to Alistair’s party with me, Dean.”

Dean looks slightly amazed. “You never give up, do you?”

“Not when it comes to things that matter,” Castiel says seriously. “Was that a yes?”

“Nope,” Dean says, raising his water in salute to Castiel as he starts to walk away.

“So it was a no?”

“Nope,” Dean repeats, and Castiel can hear the smile, even though Dean’s back is turned.

Castiel thinks quickly. “I will pick you up at nine o’clock, then?” he shouts across the bar, and Dean raises a hand towards him.

Castiel turns back to the bar, his mind racing. Somehow (and Castiel really doesn’t know how), he has convinced Dean to go on a date with him. Now Sam will be able to go out with Lucifer. He’s actually managed to do it.

Michael is staring at him when Castiel finally raises his eyes from the surface of the bar. “Little brother, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

###### 8\. THE PARTY

###### 

Sam had it all planned out. Walk casually down the stairs and out the door. Walk a few streets down, then hitch a ride to Alistair’s house with the first car that passed. He was with Brady, and they were both big guys; no one was going to pull one over on them.

He left a note upstairs, explaining that he was hanging out at Brady’s. His dad wasn’t due home until later, and he wouldn’t think it was weird that Sam wanted to spend the night away from home.

What he didn’t plan on was John Winchester, sitting on the recliner, peering at Sam over the top of the reading glasses he claimed he didn’t need.

“Going somewhere, Sammy?” his dad asks, voice deceptively calm.

Sam swallows hard. Lying to his dad is really hard, even on the best of days. “Yeah, Dad, Brady and I are going to a small study group—”

“Otherwise known as an orgy?” his dad asks, getting up from the chair and frowning at Sam, who feels about two feet tall.

“Mr. Winchester, it’s just a party,” protests Brady, who has never known when to keep his mouth shut.

“And Hell is just a sauna,” his dad growls at both of them, causing Brady to jump a little. Even in his disappointment, Sam feels a spark of anger.

“Dad, can we ignore for a second how completely unbalanced you are and talk about my need for a night—one night—of teenage normalcy?”

“What’s normal?” his dad counters. “All these ‘One Tree Hill’ kids sleeping with each other and having babies?”

“Actually, most of the characters on ‘One Tree Hill’ are adults now,” Brady adds unhelpfully. Sam elbows him, hard.

“Alistair’s party is normal!”

Predictably, Dean chooses that moment to walk down the stairs, Walkman in one hand and Metallica’s “Master of Puppets” in the other.

“Dean—” Sam begins, but his father cuts him off.

“Dean, do you know anything about this party?”

Dean shrugs, but there’s something almost guilty in the gesture. Sam’s been reading his brother’s tells since before he even understood them, and he sees his chance.

“If your brother isn’t going—” his dad starts.

“Dean. Please. Can you, just for one night, forget about your badass, devil may care, hate everybody attitude and just be my brother?” Dean opens his mouth to speak, but Sam cuts him off and turns the puppy-dog eyes and pleading stare up to eleven. “Please, Dean. Just do this for me?”

Dean closes his eyes, like it’s physically paining him to listen to Sam beg, but when he opens them, he fixes Sam with a glare. “Fine. I’ll stop by.”

Sam is definitely too grown-up and manly to shout with delight, but he can’t stop himself from throwing his arms around his brother. Brady does, too, apparently overcome with glee at Sam getting his way for once. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees his father’s horrified face.

“Oh no, it’s starting,” his dad says, staggering sideways until he hits the sofa and collapses on top of it.

“It’s just a party, Dad, it’s going to be fine!” Sam’s pretty sure that the grin stretching across his face is making him look deranged, but he can’t help it. He can’t believe that he’s actually going to a party. At someone’s house. Which will be attended by Lucifer Westenra. Sam’s a little surprised that he hasn’t started jumping up and down yet.

“No drinking. No drugs. No sex. No tattoos. No ritual animal slaughter of any kind—”

Sam only has enough time to roll his eyes and say, “Dad, you are so completely unbalanced,” before Dean is hustling him to the door. In the next second, he slams into his brother’s back when Dean stops abruptly at the front door. Because Sam’s got three inches on his brother, he can see that the new guy, something-Novak, is the reason Dean’s stopped short.

“What are you doing here?” Dean demands, sounding somewhere between shocked and embarrassed.

“Nine o’clock, correct? I’m a little early, I apologize,” Novak says. Sam tries really hard not to choke over the fact that his brother apparently has a date with some weird, blue-eyed stranger who’s rumored to be an alien.

“Whatever, I’m driving. You take shotgun.” Dean turns back and shoots Sam a look that clearly says, “Shut your pie hole or I’ll kill you.” Sam doesn’t even respond, just scrambles into the backseat with Brady while his dad mournfully watches from the porch. He has a feeling it’s going to be a strange night.

***

At least Dean can comfort himself with the fact that high school parties and the whole stupid social hierarchy that accompanies them are just as lame as he remembers. Freshman year, at least these things still had a novelty to them. Dean can remember being fascinated—the people, the booze, the music; it was so completely unknown to him. Now, as he wanders through Alistair’s McMansion, looking for at least one person who isn’t an imbecile or totally inebriated, he just feels bored out of his skull. He wishes Ruby was here, at least, so they could mock all these horny losers together.

Actually, he wishes Sam’s stupid puppy-dog eyes weren’t so damn effective—

“Winchester. Such a pleasure,” Lucifer says, blocking Dean’s path as he tries to round a corner. They’re practically the same height, but Lucifer uses his position to box Dean against the wall. “I’m surprised to see you’ve crawled out of your Bat Cave and graced us with your presence.”

“Get bent,” Dean says, ducking out from under Lucifer’s arm. “I can feel brain cells dying while you talk and this party’s already killed enough.”

He’s walking down the hallway when Lucifer’s voice rings out over his shoulder. “Is your brother here?”

Dean turns and retraces his steps without a thought, grabbing Lucifer by the collar and slamming him against the wall. “Stay away from my brother.”

Lucifer smirks at him. “Oh, I’ll stay away from Sam. I can’t guarantee that he’ll stay away from me, though.”

Dean feels the bile rise in his throat, but before he can do something, like slam his fist into Lucifer’s face until it’s a bloody pulp, Ronald Resnick runs down the hall shouting, “Fight!” and the resulting crush of students forces Dean away from Lucifer.

By the time Dean finally catches up with Lucifer, ten minutes and two rooms later, the other boy has an arm around Sam’s shoulders. Lucifer smiles, gripping Sam even tighter. “Well, Winchester, look who happened to find me.” He uses the same arm to turn Sam, guiding him away from Dean.

“Sam, wait a second,” Dean says, reaching out for his brother.

A look of consternation crosses Sam’s face. “Don’t talk to me in public,” he hisses at Dean, allowing Lucifer to pull him further away.

“Sam, hold on. I need to talk to you,” Dean says desperately, trying to figure out how to get Sam away from Lucifer without causing a scene. He doesn’t care, but the kid will probably pitch a fit.

“Look, I am trying to enjoy what is likely my only night as a normal teenager. I suggest you do the same.”

Lucifer smirks again. “Bye, Winchester,” he says, letting his arm drop to Sam’s waist as they walk away.

Dean’s about 30 seconds away from vomiting all over Alistair’s kitchen floor, so he does the only sensible thing and starts downing shots. Better out than in.

***

Castiel loses track of Dean not three minutes after arriving at Alistair’s house. He is not very concerned about this development, because it seems that people are constantly meeting, separating, and rejoining at this party, in more ways than one. He is slightly disappointed by the noise level, because it will make speaking to Dean more difficult, and he was hoping for more opportunities to talk.

He wanders around for half an hour before he spots Dean, picking up shot glasses from a tray and drinking one after another. He doesn’t look very steady on his feet.

“Dean,” Castiel says, walking up and grasping Dean by his elbow. “I’ve been looking for you. What are you doing?” Castiel hopes all these empty glasses don’t belong to Dean but, judging by the fact that he appears unable to focus on Dean’s face, they probably do.

“I’m getting trashed, _man_ ,” Deans says sarcastically, swaying slightly. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at a party?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says, “I would say, do what you want, but perhaps that’s just me.”

Dean stares at him. “Right. Well, you’re the only one who thinks that. See you later.” He pulls away and stumbles out of the kitchen, leaving Castiel alone.

***

Alistair’s party is not turning out how Gabriel expected it to. Yeah, yeah, best-laid plans and all that jazz. Gabriel’s not an idiot, he knows how rarely wishes come true. It’s not like he thought that Sam would take one look at him and fall madly in love, or anything like that. He did, however, imagine that he would spend more than thirty second talking to the person he spent weeks trying to get here.

The night had started sucking from the moment he’d shown up at Crowley’s.

“Which shirt says, ‘devious’ and ‘debonair’ to you?” Crowley had asked, holding up two identical black Oxfords. Gabriel had just rolled his eyes and fiddled with his cuffs.

“Thanks for the support, mate, I really appreciate it,” Crowley had sniped. “You’re not the only one with something to prove tonight, you know.”

“Sorry,” Gabriel had said, although he still thought that wooing the boy of his dreams had priority over sticking it to a bunch of Goldman-Sachs wannabes. Still, he was trying to be supportive.

The party kind of sucks, too. Just your typical high-school bash, people drinking, upchucking, groping each other. The music isn’t too hot either. Pretty much the only thing that can turn this into a win is Sam showing up and Gabriel sweeping him off his feet.

Music doesn’t start playing when Sam and Brady appear at the top of the stairs, but Gabriel’s definitely going to tell his kids someday that it did. More romantic that way. Sam is laughing at something, his whole head thrown back, and Gabriel doesn’t even bother trying to keep the grin off his own face. He can’t believe it—that his whole plan worked, that Sam is really here, that he actually has a chance. He almost trips over himself trying to get to Sam.

“Sam, hey!” Gabriel says, forgetting to act suave.

Sam startles, seeming to notice Gabriel only at the last second. “Oh, Gabriel. Hi.”

There are ten excruciating seconds of awkward silence, while Gabriel stares at Sam, Sam stares at a wall, Brady rolls his eyes at the whole situation, and Crowley pulls out his iPhone and starts texting somebody. For once, Gabriel is at a loss for words.

“You’ve met Brady, right? Brady, you remember Gabriel?” Sam asks, fairly shoving his friend of in front of him. Judging by the look of disdain on Brady’s face, he’s not pleased by this turn of events.

“Yeah, we have third period art together. Hey,” Gabriel offers. Brady just raises an eyebrow and remains bored-looking.

Gabriel turns his attention back to Sam. “You look really great tonight, Sam,” he says, hoping his tone conveys equal amounts of, “I’m glad to see you here,” and, “Hey there, hot stuff.” Brady snorts and Sam looks embarrassed, which makes Gabriel blush. Which, so unfair, Sam is practically his date, Gabriel is allowed to compliment him all he wants.

“Well, we all know how great I look,” Lucifer cuts in, appearing just behind Sam’s shoulder and slinging a possessive arm around each of the younger boys. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Cuervo would like to make the acquaintance of these two.”

The three walk away, but not before Sam looks over his shoulder and says, “See you later, Gabriel,” not even bothering to meet his eyes.

At some point, Crowley had disappeared, probably to spare Gabriel the stomach-pounding, throat-clenching agony of being so thoroughly and publicly rejected. Rejected, not dumped, because they were never dating. Because no matter how hard Gabriel’s been crushing on Sam for weeks now—it clearly never meant anything to the kid. Gabriel was just his meal ticket to the big leagues of romance, with guys like Lucifer Westenra. It’s not the first time Gabriel’s been kicked in the teeth for love—it’s not even the fiftieth—but it still hurts like hell. Everyone ditches Gabriel—his dad, his girlfriends, his boyfriends. It’s enough to give a guy a complex.

Gabriel squeezes his eyes shut for a minute. Cracking jokes in his own head isn’t going to fix anything, or make him feel any better. It’s time to cut his losses for the night and gi hime to plot some well-deserved pranks. First on his list is Lucifer.

No one said he couldn’t be petty about it.

***

Castiel’s night has been steadily worsening. If questioned, he would have assumed that Dean’s drunken state would make keeping an eye on him easier, not harder; and his assumption would have been completely wrong. Even with Dean staggering from room to room and walking into furniture 50% of the time, Castiel keeps losing track of him. Worse, every time he finds Dean, the other boy has another drink or shot in his hand. Castiel is beginning to worry about the effects on Dean’s liver.

This time, Castiel finds Dean in the living room, singing along to “Eye of the Tiger” while playing an imaginary guitar against his leg. The room is packed with people, all of whom are singing along or pointing and laughing at Dean. Castiel feels a pang of embarrassment on Dean’s behalf, knowing that he would hate the mocking. At the moment though, Dean is much too drunk to notice anything.

No one is more enthused by the performance than Lucifer, who seems to revel in Dean’s antics. Sam is next to him, averting his gaze, although the flush on his cheeks also seems to suggest that he feels embarrassed by Dean’s state.

With no more thought than that, Castiel moves forward, intending to remove Dean not just from the living room but from the party altogether. It’s not right, for people to mock him while he’s defenseless; and because Castiel is the reason Dean is here, it’s his responsibility to do something about it.

Castiel reaches the other boy just as the chorus is ending. Dean starts to stand, his arms raised triumphantly as the other kids holler and cheer, but he seems to misjudge his own sobriety, stumbling on the edge of the table and falling forward. Luckily, Castiel gets there in time to grab Dean and somewhat break his fall.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks, although the answer is, obvious, no.

Dean frowns up at him. “I’m fine, get off of me.” The minute Castiel lets go of him, Dean’s knees buckle and Castiel just managers to grab him under the arm before he falls on his face.

“‘Fine’ is not the word I would use.” In the background, Lucifer is yelling, “Encore!” to thunderous applause. Castiel grasps Dean more firmly and begins pulling him along.

“Where are you taking me? Get off, I don’t need your help.” Dean swats clumsily at his hands, but Castiel is motivated, and he just manages to get Dean outside without too much trouble. Castiel sends up a prayer of thanks that they’ve escaped the party with no interference, which is the exact moment that Gabriel arrives.

***

Gabriel doesn’t even bother with small talk. “It’s off.”

From his position next to a rosebush, Castiel squints up at him irritably. “Gabriel, now is not the best time.”

That looks like the understatement of the year. Dean Winchester is either attempting to commune with the concrete or is minutes away from puking up his small intestines (Gabriel would bet on the latter) and Castiel’s grip is the only thing keeping him vertical.

On any other night, Gabriel would feel bad for the guy, offer him a ride or whatever he can, but tonight he’s running on limited sympathy, and there’s no point to their little charade anymore.

“It’s done, I’m calling it off,” he repeats, careful not to use names in case Dean isn’t as drunk as he seems.

Castiel spares a look at Dean, seems to think his chances of survival are pretty good, and lets him slump to the ground before turning his attention to Gabriel. “What happened? Just hours ago, you were confident that you were approaching your goal—”

“It was never me,” Gabriel interrupts. God, he doesn’t want to go through this again. “He wanted Lucifer the whole time. I was just the first sucker he found.”

Castiel stares at him for what feels like a long time. Gabriel stares back. He’s too tired to turn away.

“Gabriel, do you truly like Sam?”

He rolls his eyes. “Duh, that was the whole point of this.”

“And is he worth all this trouble, all this heartbreak?”

It feels like a slap. “I thought he was,” Gabriel says quietly, trying not to think of how stupid, how wrong he’s been this whole time. “But I—”

“Stop,” Castiel says, cutting him off. “Either Sam is, or he isn’t. You must decide. Even knowing you for such a short time, I can say that Lucifer is not half the man you are. Furthermore, you shouldn’t let anyone make you feel as though you don’t deserve what you want.” Castiel is silent for a second. “If he’s worth it, I advise you to go for it.” From the ground, Dean lets out a moan. Castiel frowns at his prone form, before reaching down and pulling Dean up. “Good luck.”

***

Dean’s life sucks and he hates everything.

Well, he doesn’t hate the cement he’s lying facedown on, because it’s cool and it’s making his head ache a little less, but he definitely hates everything else. Starting with Lucifer. Or maybe Lawrence. No, Lucifer. Then parties, alcohol, music, bright lights, movement of any kind, his brother’s puppy-dog eyes, alcohol, dancing, Survivor, and Castiel Novak. Oh, and alcohol.

He thinks he might hate everything a little less, if he could just close his eyes for five goddamn minutes and sleep, but Castiel won’t let him be.

“Dean, you may have a concussion from falling down. You need to stay awake.”

“Dean, I’m concerned by how much alcohol you ingested. Please try and sit up.”

“Dean, your non-responsiveness is worrying me, can you say something?”

“Dude, can you can it for like, two minutes?” Dean grouses from the sidewalk. “What happened to Mr. Taciturn, can’t you bring him back?”

Castiel is finally, blessedly, silent for a minute, before he says, “I’m surprised by the breadth of your vocabulary while inebriated. That’s very impressive.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Is that all it takes to impress you? Guess I’ll just have to be more grandiloquent than unembellished in the future.”

Castiel is quiet again, and Dean thinks he’s finally gotten with the program, but then Castiel says, “You needn’t try to impress me,” in a voice so low that Dean can’t tell if he was supposed to hear it or not.

***

After a half hour of searching futilely for Crowley (he had given the guy a ride here), Gabriel finally gives up the ghost and heads for his car. The entire night has been one long unmitigated suckfest, and the only thing Gabe wants to do is eat about a thousand Hershey bars and consider ritual disembowelment. Of himself of Lucifer, he’s not really sure.

Because God can’t possibly be that good or gracious to someone who’s been kicked this hard in the jewels (and God’s another dick), the only person Gabriel passes after leaving Alistair’s is Sam. He’s sitting glumly on the front porch, his legs sprawled at an absurd angle to compensate for how low to the ground he is.

Furthermore, because Gabriel is physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut precisely at the moments that most call for it, he can’t resist calling out, “Enjoy your party?” with as much bitterness as he can manage. Which isn’t actually that much, because Sam looks like someone just shot his dog. And then ran it over.

Sam flinches (which Gabriel resolutely does _not_ feel bad about) and manages a weak smile. “Yeah, sure,” he says.

Gabriel feels another wave of bitterness wash over him. “Perfect,” he snarls, and walks away. Just fucking perfect.

“Gabriel, wait!” Sam calls out from behind him. For a second, Gabriel’s heart soars. This is it; Sam has finally realized how wrong he’s been, that Gabriel is the guy for him, that he’s been blind this whole time—

“Dean’s disappeared. Could—” Sam scuffs his foot against the ground. “Could you give me a ride home?”

Gabriel’s jaw drops. “Are you—unbelievable!”

Sam just hunches his shoulders and looks downcast. “My dad will probably call the cops if I don’t make curfew, and I really don’t want to spend the rest of my life locked up with Dean.” Sam looks up at him and Gabriel is reminded of a puppy he once had; mutt would pull the same schtick whenever Gabriel would come home and find shit on the carpet. Since Gabriel feels pretty much like he’s been shit on by Sam Winchester, he thinks it’s an appropriate comparison.

Unfortunately for Gabriel, his need to be a nice guy is overriding his desire to be an asshole. Happens every time; it’s why he’s such a sucker.

“Get in the car,” Gabriel growls. Sam’s entire face lights up; probably overjoyed at not getting ripped a new one by his dad.

The car ride is excruciating.

“You never wanted to go to the carnival with me, did you?” Gabriel finally asks as he pulls the car to a stop, because even having his hopes and dreams punched in the face has to be better than this awkward silence.

“Yes, I did,” Sam says slowly and wow, is he a shitty liar.

“No, you didn’t,” Gabriel replies casually.

“Well, no, I didn’t really,” Sam says. He’d make a great politician, switching sides like that.

“Then that’s all you had to say!” Gabriel snaps back. “It’s really easy, Sam, repeat after me: ‘I don’t want to date you, Gabriel, I just want to use your pathetic ass to score my own guy.’”

“It wasn’t—it’s not like that,” Sam mumbles.

“Have you always been this selfish?” Gabriel demands. It really is unbelievable.

Sam actually looks like he has to think about that one. “Yes,” he ventures after a few seconds.

“You know,” Gabriel continues, like Sam hadn’t spoken, “just because you’re beautiful, doesn’t mean you can treat people like they don’t matter. I really liked you,” and oh, great, now he’s ranting. “I stuck up for you when people called you conceited, I consorted with known criminals to help you out, I even learned French for you! And you think—”

Gabriel doesn’t get to finish his thought (and who the hell even knows what was) because suddenly, Sam is leaning over and pressing his lips to Gabriel’s. It’s slow, and pretty sweet, and over way too soon. Sam pulls back, flushing all the way up his neck and biting his lip, looking shy. Gabriel feels like he should probably say something profound, but all he can do is smile (probably stupidly), then grin even wider at Sam’s answering smile.

“Good night,” Sam says quietly, pulling open his door. After a second, he turns and sticks his head back in the window. “And Gabriel—thank you.”

***

Dean—several times and very loudly—makes Castiel promise to drive his car and treat it with the absolute and utmost respect. He also makes it very clear that, in the event of an emergency, Castiel is to sacrifice both himself and Dean rather than allow any harm to come to his “baby.” Castiel wonders, briefly, about Dean’s attachment to his car—he’s currently snuggling his face against the leather of the passenger seat—but it’s not essential at the moment.

###### 9\. POST PARTY

###### 

  1. English class with hungover Dean and Professor Singer
  2. Crowley & Ruby: discussing Dean and Cas, they bond over something
  3. Gabriel & Castiel & Crowley on the quad
  4. Dean and Ruby discussing prom
  5. Sam & Lucifer discussing prom
  6. Cas refusing date money from Lucifer
  7. Dean and Cas at the bookstore
  8. Gabriel & Cas & Crowley in the lunchroom



###### 10\. DEAN

###### 

“What the—” Dean mutters as the strains of something unmistakably pop-like start blaring from the speakers mounted high above the baseball diamond. Everyone else on the field—hell, everyone else in the courtyard—is looking around, trying to identify the music.

Suddenly, Castiel—weird, intense, inscrutable Castiel, still wearing that trenchcoat—steps out from the dugout. He’s holding a microphone. He’s also staring straight at Dean. Dean has about three seconds to stop and think, “Oh, god, no,” before Castiel opens his mouth and starts singing.

“His eyes, his eyes, make the stars look like they’re not shining,” Castiel begins, and for someone who seems like a Grade-A creeper in so many ways, his voice isn’t that bad. Deep, and kind of husky, and Dean is not going any further in that direction.

“His hair, his hair, falls perfectly without him trying. He’s so beautiful, and I tell him every day.”

With a mounting sense of horror, Dean realizes that Castiel is singing about him. The guy hasn’t taken his eyes off Dean since the song started and everyone around him is starting to whisper and point.

“I know, I know when I compliment him, he won’t believe me, and it’s so, it’s so sad to think that he doesn’t see what I see ,” Castiel sings, and now Dean is starting to recognize the song, too. It’s some sappy, sentimental bullshit love song, the kind that had his classmates swooning the minute it was released. A few of the girls around him actually seem to be swooning, although that may also be from the way Cas is basically eyefucking him from across the baseball diamond.

***

  1. Detention with Coach Rufus
  2. Cas and Dean's first date



###### 11\. SAM

###### 

  1. Gabe and Sam, French lesson part deux
  2. John & the boys discussing prom



***

“Lucifer never told you that we used to date, did he?”

“Yeah, right,” Sam scoffs. He waits for the punchline, but Dean just keeps staring at him, open in a way that Sam hasn’t seen in years. Every second without some kind of joke, Sam feels his heart drop a little more. “No way. When?”

“Freshman year,” Dean says. “For a couple of weeks.”

The image of Dean and Lucifer—together—is almost too much for Sam to take. “Why?”

“Because he was, like, such a babe!” Dean says, in a Valley-Girl voice, rolling his eyes. When Sam keeps staring, Dean shrugs uncomfortably. “He was the most popular guy in school and he wanted to date me. It was like a dream come true.”

“So what happened?” Sam is morbidly fascinated by the idea of his brother— _Dean_ —walking hand in hand with Lucifer, prom king, part of the in-crowd.

“We, uh—we—damn it, Sam, do I really have to spell it out for you?”

Apparently so, because Sam is so shell-shocked at the thought of Dean and Lucifer, doing that— _ew_ —that while he kind of wants to gag, he can’t do more than stare.

“We had sex,” Dean snaps.

“Ew, Dean!” Sam screeches, clapping his hands over his ears. “Gross!”

“Don’t be such a baby. You’re the one who keeps saying you’re ready to start dating. What did you think happens?”

Strangely enough, Sam’s never really thought that far ahead. “I don’t know, I didn’t think about _that_. Why did you break up?”

A muscle twitches in Dean’s check. “I told him that I didn’t want to do it again, that I wasn’t ready, and he dumped me. And then he tried to make the whole school hate me, because I wouldn’t worship the ground that he walked on.”

“And that’s why you always—” Sam starts, not even knowing exactly where he’s going. Dean gets it anyway, nodding.

“I used to think that doing what everyone else was doing, that’s what I was supposed to do. And it didn’t make me happy, Sam. In fact, it made me pretty damn miserable. So I decided to just do what I want, and fuck everything else.”

“So how come nobody ever talks about it? I’ve never even heard about this and I’m your brother.”

Dean grins meanly. “I told Lucifer that I’d tell all the cheerleaders what a tiny dick he has, if told anyone.”

It startles a laugh out of Sam, probably the only funny thing to come out of this conversation. “But why didn’t you ever tell me? I asked you, Dean, over and over again, and you always told me to mind my own business.”

“Geez, Sam, I was embarrassed, okay?” Deans stops and clears his throat. “And ashamed, too.”

“Dean—” Sam starts. “Why would you be ashamed? You were fifteen, most people don’t start having sex then.”

“Sam, I’m supposed to be your example, okay? Ever since Mom died, I wanted to do the right thing. For you. I know how bad you want us to be a normal family.” Dean shakes his head and smiles bitterly. “Some role model. All I’ve been doing since freshman year is showing you all the wrong ways to act.”

“No, you haven’t—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean interrupts. “Look, I didn’t say anything about Lucifer because I wanted you to make up your own mind about him.”

Just like that, a familiar anger springs up in Sam. “No, you didn’t. If that were the case, you wouldn’t be helping Dad hold me hostage here!”

“Sammy, I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Yeah, so you just decided you know what’s best for me? The way Dad always tries to for you?”

A muscle twitches in Dean’s cheek. “It’s not the same thing. I’m trying to stop you from making the same mistakes that I did.”

“Don’t worry, Dean, I’m not that dumb,” Sam says and stands, ignoring the hurt expression on Dean’s face. “Out. I want to sit here—alone—and imagine all the fun I won’t be having at prom.”

###### 12\. PROM

###### 

  1. John and the boys, pre-prom
  2. Cas and Dean at prom
  3. Ruby and Dean with Crowley
  4. Sam and Brady in the bathroom
  5. Fight!
  6. Dean and Lucifer and Cas talking (Dean and Cas leave)
  7. Lucifer pushes Crowley, hits Gabe
  8. Sam beats Lucifer up
  9. Dean and Castiel fight



###### 13\. DEAN

###### 

  1. Dean & Sam (& Gabe) on the porch, post-prom
  2. Dean and John talking about college



###### 14\. CASTIEL

###### 

  1. English class and the Poem
  2. Making up (and making out) in the parking lot



...

**10 Things I Hate About You AU Playlist** :

“We Are Young” fun

“Soco Amaretto Lime” Brand New

“Sixteen” Lucero

“Just the Way You Are” Bruno Mars

“Konstantine” Something Corporate

“Want You to Want Me” Cheap Trick

“I Want to Save You” Something Corporate

“Punk Rock Princess” Something Corporate

“Better” Regina Spektor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Supernatural half of WIP amnesty month ends with the first story I ever started in this fandom: a "10 Things I Hate About You" AU, inspired by a post/long discussion on Heathyr's tumblr (from December 2010 apparently, jesus). 
> 
> If you want a laugh, I also tested out the ideas of “Chuck - single overprotective father of Castiel and Gabriel. Gabriel, although wildly popular, can’t date until Cas does, but Cas has no interest in dating” and “Jess, new to school, is Sam’s French tutor. She and her friend Jo hatch a plot - use Ruby to pay mysterious Cas to take out Dean so Sam can date Jess.”
> 
> Relationship(s): Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester, past Lucifer/Dean Winchester, attempted Lucifer/Sam Winchester
> 
> Warnings: This basically sticks to the script for "10 Things" and includes: ableist language, misogynistic language, one reference to someone committing a massacre in a high school (meant as a joking remark), one character (Lucifer, who is 18) making a bet about having sex with another character (Sam, who is 15), references to off-screen underage sex between two minors (Dean and Lucifer, both age 15), references to implied pressure to have sex between those two minors, depiction of an unspecified mental illness (Anna), and just the general assholery/dickishness implicated in the entire plot (two people trick a third into paying a fourth to date a fifth, all so that one of the first two can get a date with the sibling of the fifth, while the third thinks they'll actually be dating the fifth). I mean, I love the movie, but in retrospect, it is so Problematic.


	8. Teen Wolf: This Bird Has Flown (F!Stiles/Derek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> therealallecto: Also I want a girl!Stiles story where everyone in high school assumes she’s a lesbian because her head is shaved, and the truth is that she did it when her mom got cancer, but the truth is also that she doesn’t want to talk about that, like, ever, so it’s easier just to go along with it, like, “yep, sure am, butch, friends with all the guys, hey that Lydia Martin sure is gorgeous, huh?” until even Scott forgets, even her dad, not that he forgets why she first did it, but when she keeps insisting she’s gay he just supports her, just goes with it because she’s all he’s got, now.
> 
> And then of course she says something about being gay in front of Derek and he’s just, “you know you’re full of shit, right?”

**CIRCA SEASON ONE ******

********

********

“Absolutely not,” Stiles says when Derek Hale vaults through her window on a Thursday night. He lands hard on one knee but pops to his feet a second later, like the fucking Energizer Bunny. 

“What?” he asks, dusting his palms off and shaking dirt and god knows what else all over her floor.

“You, here, this entire situation, my current mental state, just—no. Get out.”

He glowers at her like that’s actually intimidating, after weeks of watching him chase Scott around parking structures to try and teach him how to use his extended werewolfy senses. It’s hard to take a guy seriously after you’ve seen him pop out from behind a minivan with claws and fangs extended. 

“Seriously,” she says. “You can’t hang out in my room like this whenever you’re bored. I’m going to get a reputation.”

Derek’s eyebrows rise practically to his hairline. “You think I’m bored in a town full of hunters who are out for my head? While there’s an alpha on the loose that we can’t find and don’t know how to kill even if we do?”

“So maybe you’re not that bored,” Stiles allows. “That doesn’t change anything, If my father—the sheriff, in case you forgot—finds a twenty year-old person of interest in his daughter’s room, he’s not going to arrest you, he’s going to blow your head off with a twelve gauge. And werewolf or not, that’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

“I’m twenty two,” Derek says, after a long minute.

Stiles rolls her eyes. “Even better. I’m not saying it’s a rational reaction—he knows there’s nothing to worry about—but if you think you’ve got problems in this town now, wait until my dad sics the whole department on you.” She turns back to her computer and starts typing again.

“Why isn’t there anything to worry about?” Derek asks, a few minutes later, yanking Stiles right out of the groove she’d just gotten into on her essay about the Reconstruction Era. She groans, theatrically, and spins her chair around to find Derek standing by her dresser like a creeper, touching everything on top of it.

“Because I’m a lesbian?” Stiles says. Off Derek’s blank look, she adds, “Likes girls? Been in love with Lydia Martin since I was eight? Does any of this ring a bell?”

“No,” Dereks says. “I don’t pay attention to your personal life.”

Stiles snorts. “Oh, you’re just heavily over invested in Scott’s, then. That’s fine. You didn’t notice the hair?”

Derek’s eyes flick up to the top of her head, then back down to her face. “What about it.”

“I can’t believe I’ve actually found a member of the human—well, sort of—race who’s inured to stereotypes. We should study your brain. For science, of course,” Stiles says.

“Plenty of people have short hair,” Derek tells her.

“Yeah, maybe in San Francisco,” Stiles says. “Beacon Hills, not so much. It’s sort of like my warning sign—watch out, women! Stiles Stilinski’s on the loose, and she’s looking for love.” Even as she’s saying it, Stiles is aware that she sounds totally fucking ridiculous. Whatever. Derek’s so maladjusted he thought he could get away with burying a body in his backyard, it’s not like he knows the difference. 

Derek doesn’t respond to her, just turns back to the dresser and starts looking over all her possessions. Stiles watches him for a minute—the only guy she’s ever had in her room is Scott, who’s basically her brother from another mother. Her dad had started to get a little weird about it once they hit high school, but now that Scott and Allison are reenacting the plot of Romeo and Juliet (which ends in eventual double suicide, as Stiles points out frequently), he’s stopped insisting on his open door policy. Even Danny has to stay on the first floor to work on their lab reports, even though Stiles has told her dad approximately one hundred times that Danny is gay and has zero interest in her for anything except her brilliant, slightly off-kilter mind. 

Stiles wasn’t lying to Derek—her dad’s not rational about it, but that’s probably because he doesn’t really understand Stiles and she’s never bothered explaining it to him fully. If she had female friends—which she doesn’t, she’s kind of a pariah, except for Scott, who’s also a friendless weirdo—he would still let them go upstairs, even knowing that Stiles plays for the other team. Lucky for him, Scott and Danny are the only ones who ever come over. And Derek now, apparently.

“People shouldn’t judge you because of how you look,” Derek says under his breath. Stiles can barely hear him from across the room.

“Okay, Mother Teresa, this is high school we’re talking about. Everybody judges everybody, I don’t care about it.”

“Right,” Derek says. ‘Listen, you don’t have to worry—”

“I have pepper spray and a hunting knife, damn right I don’t have to worry.”

Derek stares at her, eyes wide. “I meant that I can hear you dad coming from a block away. I’ll get out of here when he comes home, I just need—” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Stiles can figure the rest of it out on her own. A place to lie low, somewhere to hang out for a few minutes without worrying about flash bang arrows flying at his head, a safe haven.

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles says. “Don’t get mud on my carpet or I’m going to make you clean the whole room.”

Derek snorts. “Deal.” 

Stiles fucks around on the computer for a little while longer, essay abandoned. It’s hard to concentrate, knowing that there’s someone else in her room. Stiles has been doing kickboxing since she was eleven and her dad raised her to be aware of her surroundings at all times. When Scott’s in her bedroom, it’s different; he’s always beside her, facing her, squished next to her on the bed while they watch a movie on Stiles’ laptop. Derek is behind her and she can’t see what he’s doing, but she can hear him moving around every few minutes, clothes shifting, pages rustling. The knowledge that he’s deliberately making that much noise so she can track him doesn’t make her feel any better, she just feels hyper aware of her surroundings.

After a few more minutes, she gives up, grabs her pajamas and goes into the bathroom to brush her teeth and change. It’s only after she’s closed the door that she realizes boxers and an oversized Beacon County PD shirt that hangs off one shoulder are probably not appropriate sleepwear when sharing a room with a suspected felon. She waffles over it for a few seconds—it doesn’t matter what she wears, neither one of them cares, it’s still going to feel awkward, who gives a shit, they might all be dead tomorrow—before thinking, fuck it, and stripping down. 

When she comes back inside the room, Derek is already in bed, lying flat on his back with his arms by his sides. “Is this—okay,” he asks, sounding so awkward and uncomfortable that Stiles actually feels better about the whole mess. It’s hard to believe that there’s someone else in Beacon Hills who’s worse at social interactions than Stiles is, but here’s the proof: Derek looks so out of his element under her JCPenney comforter that she immediately feels back on solid ground.

“It’s fine,” she says, pulling back the covers and sliding underneath. “Be warned, I move around a lot in my sleep.”

“As opposed to when you’re awake?” Derek mutters. Stiles elbows him in the side and he grunts.

“No comments from the peanut gallery. Shut up and go to sleep.”

It takes awhile for Stiles to manage it.

**CIRCA SEASON TWO**

Derek had never made a move on Stiles; in the very beginning, she didn’t know if he knew she liked girls, or if he just wasn’t interested. Those first few months, he didn’t seem to be interested in much of anything besides making Scott a part of his pack and finding the Alpha. It wasn’t until the police station, watching Derek try to flirt the admitting officer into distraction that she thought, oh. 

Derek was ridiculously, absurdly handsome in a way that shouldn’t even have been possible. Before Stiles knew the Hales were werewolves, she would have guessed scientists, specifically eugenicists, living out in the woods and working to create the most genetically perfect human beings possible. 

Stiles knows she’s a horrible human being for even thinking it, but sometimes she’s glad that Derek is the surviving Hale, even though he’s really useless at plans and strategies and tends to revert to caveman-like behavior whenever possible. If it had been Laura—if Laura had been sitting next to her, trying to come up with a plan to trap the kanima, Stiles probably wouldn’t have been capable of coherent speech or thought and they’d all already be dead. Laura had been so beautiful she’d once caused a traffic accident, just crossing the street; Stiles had seen it from down the block, waiting for her mom to load the groceries into their car.

***

They’re sitting in Deaton’s waiting room, waiting to see if Scott is going to wake up any time soon, if he’s got permanent brain damage because of the wolfsbane, if he’s—

“Stop,” Derek says. Stiles cuts him a withering look, but he doesn’t even look fazed. “You freaking out isn’t going to help him.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says. “When I want your opinion on what level of freaked out to be because someone just tried to kill my best friend, I’ll ask.”

“You didn’t cut your hair because you like girls, you cut it because of your mom,” Derek says suddenly. “Didn’t you?”

Dan Savage is an asshole, but Stiles had still believed in the power of “It gets better” with all her heart. Not in terms of her sexuality, that didn’t need to get better (although getting laid sometimes this decade would be nice), but because of her mom. She wanted it to get better. She didn’t want to feel this fucking pit in her chest, whenever she stopped distracting herself long enough to remember that her mom was gone, that she was never coming back. That they were never going to play hooky again on a nice school day to go see the Giants, that when she was sick, now, there was no one to bring her lemon egg soup in bed and put cold compresses on her head. 

Stiles does okay, for being half an orphan: she gets out of bed every day, she holds her shit together, and she’s keeping Scott alive in the face of frankly insurmountable odds; but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t kill someone to have her mom back with her, even just for a day.

“Yeah,” she manages to croak out. “She didn’t want me to—she said it wouldn’t make her feel any better, to see me like that, but I did it anyway.” It’s the first time she’s ever talked about it; Scott knows, but he never questioned Stiles when she started talking about her ten year plan to woo Lydia. Her dad tried to talk to her about it a few times, but Stiles always shut him down hard. She liked girls, she did, she was keeping her hair short, she didn’t care what he said about how much nicer she looked when it was long.

It was—it’s still—her armor. Jackson called her a dyke the first day of seventh grade, but Stiles had been called plenty of stuff over the years, so she kicked him in the balls and went on her way. People knew, but they forgot—the fire at the Hale house was such a disaster that it overwhelmed everyone else’s personal tragedies in Beacon Hills. Derek and Laura left right after, so people couldn’t pat their arms and offer condolences, but it had still been such a catastrophe that everyone left Stiles alone and stopped asking how she was doing, did she need anything, was her dad okay.

“I remember you when you were little,” Derek says suddenly. “Laura used to be really jealous of how nice your hair was.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah,” Derek says, with half a smile. “I didn’t recognize you at first. In the Preserve. I thought maybe—your sister, or something.”

“Just me,” Stiles says. 

“I like it,” Derek says, eyes flicking up to the top of her head, then back down to her face. He does it a lot, like he keeps being surprised by what he finds up there. Stiles can’t blame him; she remembered Derek, too, and spent the beginning of sophomore year staring at his shoulders, arms, trying to figure out where all those muscles had come from.

“Thanks,” she says. 

**CIRCA SEASON THREE**

If Stiles were ever unsure about being sexually attracted to ladies, Ms. Blake blows that one right out of the water. After years of people like Mr. Harris and Coach Finstock, though, she thinks everyone should cut her a little slack now that an actual hot teacher has appeared to grace the halls of Beacon Hills High.

(If she runs a few experiments to make sure that Ms. Blake isn’t just some wish-fulfillment fantasy come to life, like maybe a djinn has Stiles strung up by her wrists in a dirty warehouse somewhere, well, who can blame her.)

Of course, because Stiles’ life is pain, Ms. Blake and Derek start boning immediately, which—seriously? How is it that the two most attractive people in Beacon Hills magically found their way towards each other? Was Ms. Blake actually created years ago in a lab to further the genetic excellence that is the Hale family?

Stiles gets off a lot, angrily, thinking about the whole situation. She’s not even sure who she’s more jealous of. Being a seventeen year-old virgin really sucks.

Derek has the loft, and Cora, and Ms. Blake, now, but he still shows up in Stiles’ room sometimes, to bounce ideas off of her and argue about the best way to deal with the alphas (spoiler alert, none of their methods work, so there is no “best way,” Derek). It’s not exactly where she imagined she’d be, at seventeen: juggling studying for the SATs with taking care of her dad and trying to keep all of her friends alive and un-ritually sacrificed. 

She wonders, sometimes, if her mom would be proud, if she could see Stiles now. Or if she’d just be horribly disappointed, like her dad is, over the lies and missed curfews and half-truths. 

She’s not stupid enough to believe that her mom would think any better of her.

***

“This is getting a little weird,” Stiles says, the next time Derek comes through her window (her dad knows about werewolves now, he could use the door; evolution gave him opposable thumbs for a reason). She’s sacked out on the bed, just staring at the ceiling, but she can hear him moving around behind her.

“I thought weird was your area of expertise,” Derek says, dropping down next to her. It’s a little tight; she’s thin, but the bed is only a double, so when he lies down, they’re pressed together, side to side. He laces his fingers together and cups the back of his neck with his hands; if Stiles were a little taller, she’d be in danger of losing an eye to one pointy elbow.

“It definitely is, especially when it’s of the supernatural variety,” Stiles agrees. “Personal, societal weirdness, though, is not my forte and as you probably already know, I’m not that great at dealing with it.”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “I noticed.”

She elbows him in the side as retaliation. He grunts a little, but when she rolls her head to one side, he’s smiling. 

“What’s going on?”

Stiles bites down on her lip as she thinks. It takes a minute, but Derek is patient when no one’s life is in danger.

“I don’t think I should talk to you about it,” she says finally. It’s—hard. The instinct is always to talk, to give people what they want, answers, theories, wild speculation that doesn’t have a chance in hell of being right but is still something. She’s stupid, when it comes to people-pleasing; it’s why everyone knows so much about her, all those big chunks of ‘Stiles’ that she gives away freely. 

Derek rolls to one side and it puts them face to face. Stiles is suddenly, absurdly grateful that she’d brushed her teeth that morning.

“Are you having girl problems?” Derek asks, seriously. On anyone else, it would be such a line; Stiles can just picture Scott trying to ask her that with a straight face, then cracking up mid-word like the goofball that he is. Derek tries really hard, is the thing; he’d been a shitty alpha for that whole long year but he’d turned it around after Erica and Boyd returned and that goes for all of the pack members, even the humans like Stiles and Allison. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says. She turns her head back up to the ceiling. “It’s not a big deal, I just think—maybe this summer I can cool with the pack bonding activities and shit? Just for a little while, it’s not—don’t think I’m abandoning you or anything.”

This time, Stiles tries to be patient while Derek thinks. She can feel him still looking at her. 

“It’s Jennifer, isn’t it,” he says, after a long minute. Stiles feels her cheeks flush and she’s already opening her mouth for the knee-jerk denial when she forces herself to stop.

“Yeah,” she admits. “It’s—I don’t want it to be weird and I know that it already is, because she’s my teacher and, uh, significantly older—”

“She’s only twenty four,” Derek interrupts, and Stiles winces. 

“My point holds. I get that she’s a part of the pack now and I’m not trying to make trouble, it’s just easier if—” She doesn’t finish her thought, but she thinks Derek must get it. If she isn’t constantly confronted by a beautiful, older woman who probably wouldn’t touch Stiles with a ten-foot pole, never mind that Ms. Blake has always been perfectly nice to her in class. If Stiles doesn’t have to watch Derek and Ms. Blake kiss and be cute and hold hands and be a functional couple in front of her. Everyone in the pack is in a relationship now, unbelievably enough, except for Lydia, and Stiles thinks that ship sailed right around the time that she realized Lydia made a better friend and supernatural co-investigator than crush. It’s all confused in her head now anyway, who she wants, who she wants to be, and Stiles thinks it’ll be better for everyone if she can just take a step back, figure out what’s going on with herself before she does something stupid and screws everything up. 

“You’re not the only one, you know,” Derek tells her. “Isaac is—”

“That’s different,” she argues, because it is. Isaac has a perpetual boner for everyone, even Stiles, and he knows she plays for a different team. She hasn’t figured out what his deal is, yet, if never being in a relationship made him more open to anything and everything or if he’s just the way he is. Isaac, Scott and Allison have some weird three-way romance going on now, though, so it’s a moot point.

“Yeah, I know,” Derek says. “She really doesn’t mind, though. We talked about it a few times. Not you, specifically, but students in general; she gets it.”

That just makes her feel even worse; like a crush from Stiles is something to be tolerated, endured and Ms. Blake is some kind of saint for putting up with it. But that’s not fair, either, and Stiles knows it; she’s just looking for a chance to lash out at somebody, she’s emotionally self-aware enough to realize that. 

Derek must read some or all of it on her face, because he nods once and says, “I won’t push it. Take however long you need, but it can’t be forever and it can’t be a total break. Fair?”

Stiles swallows around a lump in her throat. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

Derek rolls onto his back and nudges her with one shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

**CIRCA IMAGINARY SEASON FOUR/SENIOR YEAR**

Stiles grows her hair out a little senior year. It’s not a big deal—it’s not—but sometimes it gets to her, being the only female member of the pack without beautiful, flowing locks. Erica’s had epilepsy her whole life, for god’s sake, and she still manages to make looking pretty effortless, like it’s not a challenge, a gene that skipped Stiles completely.

Contrary to what Scott thinks, Jungle is not exclusively for guys. As far as Stiles knows, no one at BHHS is an out and proud lesbian, but she’s seen women there before, some she recognizes from around town. So Stiles lets her hair get long enough to be considered “artfully tousled,” puts on her best shirt (that’s not saying much), and goes hunting. In a metaphorical sense, of course. 

It works. Much to everyone’s shock and awe, and that includes Stiles. She starts dating Alex in November, right smack in the middle of the frenzy of college applications. It’s weird. It’s so weird, because Stiles has been single her entire life and watching other people in relationships did not prepare her to actually be in one herself.

Alex goes to San Dimas, two towns over, and drives a Mustang that rivals Derek’s old Camaro. Stiles’ dad watches from the doorway, a frown slanted across his face, the first time Alex picks Stiles up for a date. They don’t talk about it—one more thing in an endless list—but Alex comes around for dinner a few times and Stiles’ dad begins to thaw, especially when Alex calls him “sir” and talks about how her dad was a Marine, too.

Lydia throws a holiday party the day after classes let out, riding high on her early acceptance to CalTech, and basically forces Stiles to bring Alex. It’s not that she’s embarrassed by her girlfriend or worried about her friends spending time with said girlfriend; there’s probably nothing the pack could tell Alex that’s worse than what she’s experienced, first hand, with Stiles herself. 

**THE POST COLLEGE YEARS**

Beacon Hills is in the midst of an unprecedented heat wave when Stiles gets back into town, weeks after everyone else. It had been in the 50s at Udub, so of course she’s unprepared to step out of the Jeep and into what feels like a wall of heat and humidity. This unpreparedness also manifests as, “I’m shipping all of my summer clothes home and don’t fit into anything I left here,” so Stiles is almost immediately forced to turn her old jeans into cutoffs and walk around in a series of old and dirty tanks that might belong to Scott, Derek, or even Isaac. It’s pretty hard to tell, what with all the dirt, gunk, and other mysterious fluids coating them. 

Her dad gives her a pained look the first time she walks down the stairs like that. “Stiles, what the hell are you wearing.”

“What,” she says defensively, looking down at herself. She’d purposely chosen the cleanest A-line first, to break him down gently. “It’s summer vacation and it’s a billion degrees here. All my good stuff is still at school.”

“Don’t walk around outside like that,” he warns her. “I mean it, Stiles, you don’t look decent.”

Stiles scoffs, but it’s hot as Satan’s asscrack out there, so she isn’t planning on leaving the house for any reason. That lasts about as long as she expected—which is to say, an hour—before Stiles is so bored she’s climbing the walls and itching for a reason to get out. When Scott calls to tell her the whole pack is gathered for her “surprise” welcome home party, she’s back in the Jeep and peeling out of the driveway so fast her tires squeal. She needs to find something to do with her life, and quick, before her brain starts atrophying.

The party is at Derek’s

“Looking good, Stilinski,” Erica whistles, and that’s when Stiles looks down and realizes she booked it out of her house in clothes that barely qualify as appropriate sleepwear. Whoops. Erica is still leering when Stiles looks up and she can feel how red her cheeks are. She flips Erica off and everyone laughs, attention turning elsewhere, except for Derek. He’s looking at Stiles like he’s never seen her before and she flushes even harder, which isn’t fair, because she’s always been immune to Derek (mostly immune anyway, or at least subtle enough not to attract his attention with it) and now he’s all but undressing her with his eyes and it’s too much.

Stiles slept with a lot of people at school. Not a lot like—whatever, no number is too high as long as it’s consensual and Stiles won’t stand for slut-shaming, of herself or anyone else. The point is, Stiles finally ditched her v-card a month into freshman year and she’s been enjoying herself ever since. She wasn’t sure if she could handle casual at first, but it ended up being the best thing: she had a lot of great sex with a bunch of people and everyone went home happy. At first, she only hooked up with girls, but that changed with one of her R.A.’s sophomore year and Stiles hasn’t looked back since. 

...

“You look—”

“Like a hot mess, I know,” Stiles says ruefully. “Believe me, I wish I’d changed before I left.”

“No,” Derek disagrees. “I was going to say, all grown up.”

“Wow,” Stiles says. “If you were trying not to sound creepy and paternalistic, you blew right by that one, man.”

Derek ducks his head a little and Stiles is startled to see that the back of his neck is red. Holy shit, is Derek actually embarrassed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [  
>  helenish: OOH, BUT, maybe Derek isn’t actually paying that much attention, because his sister just died and his life is a disaster and how would this topic even really come up between him and Scott’s little mouthy friend with the pretty eyes, and when Scott eventually says something about it (or whatever) Derek thinks whether it’s true or not, it’s not his business, but it makes it—easier, to get Stiles’ help and ride around in her car and come in her bedroom at 3 o’clock in the morning to have a furious argument what they’re going to do about the hunters and whether she can get her dad off his back, and it’s not—sexual, it’s not a sex thing, because Stiles likes girls and so does Derek so it doesn’t matter if she sleeps in a too big t-shirt that falls down her shoulder and she has a cute mole on her collarbone, because it’ll never happen. Derek feels safe with her.  
>    
>  Then they have an uhhhhmazing threesome with a beautiful hot lady.  
>    
>  #hypothesis to be rigorously tested: Can Derek Hale be sexually healed with a buncha hot threesomes  
>  ]()  
> I want everyone to know that my "helenish" tag on tumblr is only one page, but my "actual life ruiner helenish" tag is SEVEN PAGES.
> 
> Relationship(s): Derek Hale/Jennifer Blake, Scott McCall/Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey, Stiles Stilinski/OFC, eventual Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale
> 
> Warnings: Language, always female!Stiles, off-screen use of a slur ("dyke"), reference to Dan Savage, reference to serious illness (cancer) and off-screen character death (Stiles' mom). Please let me know if you would like more specific warnings.


End file.
